


Probability

by Therrae (Dasha_mte)



Series: Xenoethnography [5]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Bumblebee, Transformers: Prime, Transformers: Robots in Disguise (2015)
Genre: Aliens, Anthropology, Canon Disabled Character, Charlotte Mearing is Charlie Watson, Cultural Differences, Gen, Mecha, Other, Xeno, Xenolinguistics, multi-cannon-mashup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-07-24 23:36:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 52,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20022886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dasha_mte/pseuds/Therrae
Summary: They have words for ‘certain,’ ‘speculation,’ ‘hope.’ They hardly ever use them. Verb tenses (indicated with sound tags, like English does with ‘ing’ or ‘ed’) mark off whether a thing didn’t happen, possibly happened, probably happened, was personally witnessed to have happened, reliably documented to have happened, logically must have happened, or is hoped to have happened.  Future tense is not as elaborate, since none of that has happened. Although there are a fucking boatload of past tenses, at least it is consistent. No irregular verbs at all.This afternoon was all structural comparisons with Arcee. She says a sentence in English, then again in Cybertronix while I write it down. Then she checks the spelling. Then we would go through and gloss word by word.It rained recently.{Short term but undetermined time unit—past event} {Rain—certainty, logically must have happened} (evidence is implied)It might rain later.{Short term but undetermined time unit—future event} {Rain-possibility} {event calculated at non-zero}The rain was cold.{Short term but unspecified time unit—past event} {Rain-personally witnessed to have happened} {273.8 degrees kelvin}





	1. Expected frequency of events

Max meowed impatiently from the cat carrier in the passenger seat. Kim laid her hand on the top. An annoyed cat was less troubling than a frightened one would have been, but Max had not panicked during the removal of the cast and she didn’t seem to mind driving. Now that she no longer had the thumpy cast to slow her down, her life among mecha would probably get more complicated. If she’d had a nervous disposition…

Of course, having courage meant she’d have to be closely supervised. As big as she was—and according to Miko, Max was ‘hecking chonk’—she could fit between the seams of most of the larger mecha. When Kim had mentioned this concern, Bumblebee had thought it was funny, but the idea made Kim feel a little sick. And Ratchet would have a cow if he had to extract a cat from someone. 

Bumblebee gave a two-syllable, high-pitched chirp that meant—more or less—‘quit fussing.’ 

“I’m just not as laid back as Max,” she said. 

Her phone vibrated the arrival of a text: Slipstream asking how Max was doing. Again. 

Kim took a picture of Max in the carrier and texted it back. A change-of-schedule icon flashed in the corner. Kim tapped the screen, looking first at today—

“Oh, crap! I’ve got a meeting scheduled with Director Mearing in at three.” 

“Don’t worry, be happy!” warbled from the dashboard. 

“Yeah. Thanks. I know what ‘Orange Tree’ means. She’s utterly terrifying.” 

Bobby McFerrin was replaced with the pounding beat of the theme to Xena Warrior Princes. 

Kim laughed and rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Right.” 

Bee’s answer was the theme to the 70s Wonder Woman series. 

“Wait a minute. Do you approve of Mearing?” 

The answer was Rick Astley. Kim wondered if Bumblebee was making fun of her. He didn’t usually bother to be obscure when he was joking around, though. 

Every bot not out on patrol seemed to be waiting in the assembly area when they exited the tunnel; Optimus, Mirage, Bulkhead, Springer, Ironhide, Drift. Even Ratchet—with June perched comfortably on his shoulder—was standing at the yellow line. Slipstream was waiting at the bottom of the steps. Bee pulled to a stop next to him and opened the passenger door with a flourish. 

Slipstream bent down, but didn’t touch the carrier. “Were you a good kitty? Did you behave for the nice veterinarian?” 

Kim came around and reached into the carrier—with her small, soft human hands—to attach the leash before stepping back and letting Max climb free and into Slipstream’s arms. “And that’s it,” Kim said. “All better.”

Slipstream made a formal little bow, thanked Kim and Bee for their help, and carried Max up the steps. 

Kim looked up at the observing bots. They watched Slipstream climb the steps with his furry burden. She checked, but there was no public glyph traffic. When they vanished through the doors to the old Cold War office corridor, the other mecha turned away, resuming the normal activity in the central cavern. 

Mirage was playing a video game with two NEST troops on the expensive gaming system Bulkhead had bought for Miko. Optimus and Drift were at one of the huge screens, looking at potential energon sites with Lennox. Bulkhead was cleaning his weapons. 

Kim checked her bag for pens and started up the stairs. She hadn’t watched enough human-bot casual interaction. The video game was her best bet.

Before she got more than three steps, the sound of a golf cart made her turn around. One of the NEST clerks (she had to get better at remembering the human names, but they all dressed the same and had the same hair cut, and that really wasn’t fair) was chauffeuring in a handsome young man clutching several fashionable briefcases and Director Mearing. 

Oh. Damn. Kim checked her watch, but no, she hadn’t missed her meeting. 

Mearing stepped out of the cart wearing sneakers and her efficient pencil skirt (Kim could understand the anxiety some kinds of clothing evoked in Bulkhead). She selected one of the briefcases from the Sherpa-ing assistant, and shewed the cart back toward human territory. 

Kim wondered how best to get out of the way. Around the assembly area, the mecha were looking intently busy. 

Except for Bumblebee, who was coming over. 

With a crunch of joints, he crouched down in front of Mearing and held up a hand for a high five, which Mearing returned. “Hello, Bee,” she said. “How was Australia?” 

“I met a strange lady. She made me nervous. She took me in and gave me breakfast.”

“Really? Again?” 

Be sagged dramatically, a fluid cartoon of dejection. “And you saw me low; Alone again.”

“I don’t know that one, I’m afraid.” 

Bee continued the clip: “Didn't they say that only love will win in the end?”

“Don’t even start. I do get reports, you know. You weren’t alone.” 

Bee thrummed low in his chassis, a sound that wasn’t in the Cybertronix phonemes. Kim had heard him make it to Raf, but not other bots. 

Optimus came down beside them, crouching on one knee and leaning forward so that his eyes were almost even with Mearing’s head. It was about two feet lower than he usually went for politicians, although not for Ratchet’s trainees, Captain Lennox, or Kim herself. 

Huh. Optimus approved of Mearing, but this wouldn’t be a reflection of that. Optimus approved of Morshower, Fowler, and Keller and he never negated so much of his height advantage with them. 

“Director Mearing. I apologize for the inconvenience. Thank you for your flexibility.” 

“It’s really nothing, Prime. I can get Slipstream’s report here as well as in the conference room—and I admit I am curious about this cat everyone is talking about. I’d also like a brief word with you later, if you have time?” 

A tiny nod. “Privately?”

“No, the balcony will do.”

She turned and started up the steps, ignoring the two NEST service men who hurried past her. Kim winced on their behalf—off duty or not, they wouldn’t want the National Security Director watching them play video games. 

Still, that had been what Kim had hoped to get a little ethnographic observation on. Rats. Well, maybe the infirmary? 

Around the corner and on the other side of the yellow line, Dr Nomura, Epps, Pierre, and Carly were watching the fabricator—or at least, the monitor that connected to the fabricator—do whatever it was fabricators did. They watched in silence, Carly and Dr. Nomura making notes and sketches on paper. The scratch of their pencils was the only sound. 

June and Ratchet were discussing pain: perceptions of pain, processing of pain, physiological effects of pain. That was clearly the conversation to watch, and Kim took a seat on the shelf nearest. 

In the beginning, Kim could follow Ratchet’s lessons as well as the other trainees. Which is not to say she had followed along well, but the content had been alien and counterintuitive to even the best human engineers. 

Over the last few weeks, as Kim had missed more and more lessons because of language training and other conversations and activities, she had fallen noticeably behind the others. Which was…fine. Kim wasn’t trying to be a mech maintenance engineer. The most useful thing she did during a medical crisis was talk to the patient to help keep them calm and connected. Kim didn’t need to know how a molecular chain of copper conducted data differently than a molecular chain of carbon-iron. 

Kim did need to know that somehow June was asking Ratchet the right questions. He had her full attention. He answered without impatience or sarcasm. He drew diagrams on one of the display screens as he went, patiently pausing to redraw or magnify whatever confused her. 

Kim smiled to herself. Getting a nurse assigned to the trainee program had been her work. Something she had done right. There were so many problems she could do nothing about at all. 

Ratchet ended the lesson with an abruptness that caught June and everyone else by surprise. He cleared all the trainees out and sent them away in a rush that would have seemed like rudeness from anyone else. But if Rachet wanted to be rude, you knew it, though, so he was just in a hurry. 

In the cavernous corridor that curved around the balcony and into the assembly area, Kim passed Lennox and a tactical analysist hiking the other way. Kim frowned. All the other humans had been cleared out. She checked her phone, but there were no messages waiting, no glyph traffic, no change to her calendar instructing her to be at some meeting outside bot country. 

Well, okay. 

Three more bots had arrived: Hound, Strongarm, Jazz—who had been scheduled for patrol in Tanzania today—and Windblade—who had been scheduled for shut-down. Damn. 

Mearing was on the balcony. Kim rethought her own plans and sat down on the forth step, hoping she wasn’t particularly noticeable. 

Optimus came to the other side of the railing, stopping just far enough away that Mearing didn’t have to crane her head up to make eye contact. “Director?” he said. 

“Send my compliments to Wheeljack. He’s on schedule. So few things are.” 

“I will pass along your sentiment.” 

Mearing crossed her arms and leaned them on the railing. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to send someone else up? We need the satellite network clean.”

“The modifications are expensive. Transit to near orbit has a high energy cost. And the only individual who could match Wheeljack’s efficiency is Ratchet.” 

“Unacceptable,” Mearing said. 

“Agreed.” 

“Very well,” she sighed. “I also have a question about personnel assignments.” She reached into her scarlet briefcase and produced a clipboard. “You don’t have anyone listed as Chief Protector. Can you clear that up for me? For record keeping purposes. I believe the full translation from the Cybertronian is--” she took off her glasses and frowned at the paper “--‘Acting Lord Protector, Holy Warden, Chief Sentinel of the State Guard.’ We didn’t seem to get that update.” 

Optimus stilled. Softly, he said, “Your information is not lacking. The position is currently not filled.” 

Trying not to move her head, Kim looked around. All of the bots were still, except for Windblade, who had sprouted a small shoulder cannon and was folding her arms.

“Oh,” Mearing said. “I must have misunderstood. Our files list this position as essential.”

“Normally, that is so. However, our population here is small, and no acceptable candidate has presented,” he replied quellingly. 

Mearing did not back off. She lifted an eyebrow and said, “Really.” 

“It is unfortunate. The travails of war. I’m sure you understand—”

“I’ll stop you right there, boss,” Ironhide said. Kim tried to remember if she had ever observed a bot interrupting Optimus—out loud, in English, in front of humans. “I can name three candidates better suited than your last bodyguard.” 

Optimus’s head snapped back. “That is untrue!” 

“You know better than to insult capable subordinates. Your last bodyguard was a warn-out bucket of bolts ready for the scrapyard. You can do better.” 

“You will not continue this conversation.” 

Ironhide turned to Mearing. “My recommendation is Springer. He has the bulk, the armaments, the experience. But that choice is problematic; his rank translates to about a two-star general at this point. He can’t be second in command and deploy in combat beside the Prime. Not if we can avoid it.” 

Springer—fast and graceful despite his size—planted himself directly in front of Ironhide. “Sir, I have not and will not seek your position.” 

Ironhide’s answer was brief and loud and in Cybertronix—not, of course, any of the words Kim knew. Whatever it was, Springer responded by flinching backwards, flaring a couple of antennae, and then transforming into a helicopter. “I will serve as commanded,” he said, a Cybertronix phrase Kim did recognize. Then he kept on transforming until he was a cube about nine feet tall. 

Kim blinked. What the actual fuck?

Mearing didn’t seem to notice the odd display of….what? submission? apology? Ignoring Springer, she said to Ironhide. “The other candidates? Chromia, I assume. She has moderate seniority and an…impressive combat record.” 

“Absolutely not,” Optimus said. “Director Mearing, Chromia is not a candidate for the State Guard in any capacity.” 

“No, ma’am,” Ironhide agreed more quietly. “Chromia is a First of Line. That would be inappropriate for a whole bunch of reasons—maybe the most important at this point is that she couldn’t argue with him as much, if you see what I mean.”

She didn’t. Frowning, Mearing said, “If not Chromia, then not Strongarm?” 

Ironhide shook his head. “Strongarm’s not a First of Line. And while she has the spark for it, she doesn’t have the experience.” 

“Thank you, sir. I’m very flattered, sir,” Strongarm murmured, staring humbly at the floor. 

“Who then?” 

“Director Mearing,” Optimus said, emphasizing the politeness, “This is an internal issue. If there is a change in personnel assignments, of course you will be informed.” 

Windblade stepped between Optimus and Ironhide. She wasn’t big enough to block Ironhide from Optimus and Mearing, and her military rank, as Kim understood it, was about the same as Bee’s or Arcee’s. But she was a First of Line, and maybe that was what was relevant here, because Ironhide shifted his attention to her and said, “Bulkhead has the most durable build and plenty of power. Or Mirage.” 

Windblade’s helm tipped back slightly. “Mirage?” 

“He has by far the best force fields for both power and precision.”

Jazz walked over and took a position close beside Optimus and Mearing. “Are you gonna make us beg, Prime?” he asked softly.

Optimus was unreadable. He had turned off the nonverbal package, and his armor seams were clamped down tight. Mearing, watching him, was the picture of encouraging patience. 

“Bulkhead,” Optimus murmured. 

“Thank you,” Mearing said, making a note on the clip board. “I’ll make sure our files are updated.” She dropped her clipboard into her designer briefcase and started down the steps. “I’ll see you Thursday in Moscow.” She paused momentarily, coming even with Kim. “It’ll be three o’clock by the time we get to the DFAC. Shall we?” 

“Yeah,” Kim squeeked. “Sure.” She gathered up her own canvas bag and hurried in Mearing’s wake. She would have preferred a chance to scribble down the notes of what had just happened. And several long, discreet talks with whichever bots were willing to explain what had just happened. 

Although Kim could guess some of it. Enough of it. Optimus had been maneuvered into having a bodyguard again. He hadn’t wanted one. 

Kim wasn’t sure if she should be irritated or grateful, actually. 

When they turned the corner on the far side of the infirmary Mearing slowed, and Kim found herself falling into step beside her. Ooops. Kim glanced up nervously. 

“Your report on the cat experiment was very interesting. I’m pleased to see this pet business hasn’t interfered with Slipstream’s efficiency.” 

“No, Max doesn’t take a lot of bandwidth. Um. She got her cast off today.” 

“Why did we just re-transfer one of the bridge techs back to Ratchet’s trainee program full time?”

“When Ratchet was injured at the gate, Pierre rushed in to stop the bleeding. Leaking.”

“So, it’s gratitude.” 

“No, it’s courage and kindness, I think. Pierre impresses him.” The gloves in the first aid kit at the bridge weren’t long enough; splashes of energon has soaked Pierre’s sleeves and left burns up and down both arms. 

“And here I thought we were looking for engineering genius. How many months did we waste on that? Don’t answer that. Explain why a First of Line can’t act as the Prime’s personal security.”

Oh. God. “Um. Well. That’s actually really complicated. I’m not sure I really understand it myself.” 

Without slowing, she gave Kim a hard look. “Bullshit. Do I look stupid to you?”

“No ma’am.” 

“What is a First of Line?” 

“It’s just really … alien. It has to do with how their sparks are…made.” 

“Really alien. You’ve been here a couple of months, and that’s the best you can do? I can have you fired.” 

Kim took a deep breath. 

“Well?” Damn, but Mearing was terrifying!

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t think you can have me fired. I work for them.” 

Mearing rounded on her like a striking rattlesnake. “Damn right you work for them! And stop calling me ma’am. You don’t work for me, you don’t answer to me, and you don’t ever tell me—or anyone else—something they don’t want us to know.” 

“Oh,” Kim whispered. 

“He trusts you. And Bumblebee trusts you. And if you don’t live up to that trust, then it will be me you’re answering to. Do we have an understanding, Dr. Montgomery?”

“Yes. Director Mearing.” 

She nodded and resumed her rapid pace toward the human sections of the NEST base. Kim gave Maggie a distracted wave as they passed the bridge. Maggie returned an encouraging thumbs up. 

When they were out of sight of the control niche, Mearing slowed slightly and said, “It’s gender, isn’t it? Prime and the First of Line are females. Chromia is not acceptable as a bodyguard because she’s pregnant. She’s still on the combat roster, though. I might be wrong. You don’t have to answer.” 

“Uh, no?” Kim said weakly. 

“If they’re concealing it…I can come up with a pretext to get Chromia out of the way for however long this takes. We’ll have to be oblique about it.” 

“Okay. I think you misunderstanding all that might be worse than you knowing…too much. Let’s go back and get somebody to explain—”

“They’ve tried explaining. It doesn’t make any sense. It all goes in circles.” 

Kim closed her eyes. “Nobody’s pregnant. They don’t grow their babies inside their bodies. And they’re not growing any now—it’s resource intensive and they don’t have the energon.” 

Mearing considered. “I’ve known Bee for almost thirty years. If they won’t tell me where little alien robots come from, it’s possible they won’t tell you.” Pushing again? Maybe. Probing, at least.

“I don’t think they’re misleading me. They’re all really sad about it. I don’t see…any of them lying about how sad they are about there not being any babies. Sparklings.” Kim sighed and took the chance of stepping closer. Softly, she said, “Why do you think they’re girls? Or female anyway?”

“Optimus isn’t like Bee. And you’ve met Chromia and Windblade—I was beginning to suspect they were matriarchal.” 

Kim bit her lip, weighing the potential damage of truth against the potential damage of misunderstanding. “Chromia and Windblade were sparked from Vector Sigma. I think that’s sort of a religious shrine on Cybertron. And they might be carrying a sort of holy data packet from their god, which may or may not be inside the planet. The god. So, they’re special. They have prerogatives. It’s complicated.” 

“And Optimus?”

“He carries the Matrix of Leadership.” 

“Bumblebee calls it the Matrix of Creation.” 

“Oh.” Kim blushed. “Yes. Also that.” 

“So it makes….”

Kim took a breath. “Sparks. But we really don’t understand what those are—”

“Souls,” Mearing said impatiently. “Sparks are their souls. But the important part is that nobody is going into combat pregnant.” Her gaze was narrowed in on Kim now, seeing everything, looking for evasion. 

It was all Kim could do not to look away or step back. But this was an important truth, and Mearing needed to know it: “No. Nobody is going into combat pregnant.”

With a single nod it was Mearing who stepped back. “I’m hungry. Let’s get on to the DFAC.”

Kim wondered if it was another test. “We can’t talk about this in the DFAC.” 

“No. You’re going to teach me how to use the glyph app.” 

Lunch was over, so the only other people in the DFAC were Peshlakai and two guys from signal corps who were setting up some kind of computer station in the corner. Mearing didn’t pay them any mind, so Kim didn’t either. They ate sandwiches at a corner table while Kim explained glyph syntax. Mearing’s active, laser-like attention was exhausting. “If I were to send a message to Arcee right now, how would I begin it?” 

“Well, you couldn’t send a message to Arcee right now. You can’t see her.” 

“What do you mean? Why would I send her a message if we were in the same room?” 

“The app mimics how they use glyphs—line of sight, by basic radio. You could text Arcee glyphs right now, but you’d also send audio or actual text messages to accompany.” 

“You’re kidding.” 

“No, Ma’am. Director.” 

“Charlotte. Why is there a system for rudimentary radio conversation with people who are already in the room with you?” 

“They’re an added layer of nuance. A lot of what we do with body language, they do with glyphs. But glyphs do a lot more than body language does. Glyphs don’t have to go to everyone—you can send to just one person. Or send different ones to different people. You can add emphasis, or apologize for something you have to say, but don’t want to. You can add layers of derision and impatience to sarcasm. If you walk into a room and there is an important discussion going on you can say hi to your friends without interrupting. The thing is, some of them are really vague, or have multiple meanings in different contexts. There aren’t as many glyphs as there are words.”

Mearing frowned at her phone, flipping through the image menus. Four hundred labeled glyphs, now. Kim felt a stab of sympathy. She had not started with such a huge vocabulary. 

Even now, Kim could only remember a handful without the English labels. There were dozens she had notes on that she had never sent anyone. “The app by itself doesn’t explain very much. I’ll…send you my glossary.” She attached it to a text and sent it, hoping Mearings phone had the upgrades to handle the file. Apparently it did, because she was silent for several minutes. 

“Six glyphs for irony?” Mearing murmured at last.

“More, actually, there’s another page. I usually use the first two. They’re fine for co-workers or a person one is on friendly terms with. It’s kind of complicated. Some of them imply regret or sarcasm or emotional intimacy. That’s all in my notes.” 

She continued flipping through screens. “This is odd.” 

“Um, yeah. That’s profanity. Don’t use it. I….you can reorganize the pages on yours. Right now, your app is just a copy of mine. But leave the cussing alone. Some of them are really foul. Glitch, if it is directed at someone…can be really nasty in a bunch of ways. Don’t chance it. I mean, they can use it but—it would be like cursing in Russian. Manufacturing reject, is way worse than it sounds. For some reason, underclocked isn’t as insulting as it should be, I don’t know why. But don’t use it.” 

“What about orange tree?” 

She knew about that. Kim forced herself not to look away. “That’s kind of an ethnic slur. Well. Species slur. It isn’t used a lot.” 

“’Bitch’ or ‘hard ass?’”

“Probably. Um. Optimus really doesn’t like it, and they avoid using it around him.”

“Do they direct it at you?”

“Not to my face. I may not be scary enough to get it at all. Cybertron didn’t have trees. The original refers to any organic life with defenses.” Kim swallowed, realized it was a mistake to soften things here, tried again: “Acid defenses. Orange tree is a euphemism.” 

She waved a hand. “Don’t look so nervous. My job is to be terrifying. It’s nice that the alien war machines noticed.”

Kim leaned slightly forward. “How do you do that? I mean—” She remembered this was not an interview, and Director Mearing was not part of her research population. 

“The Decepticons have a weapon—I can’t pronounce what they call it. We call it the death ray. At close range and with a sustained beam, it turns a human into a smear of slush on the floor. I’ve seen it used. I’ve seen…worse weapons used.” She carefully folded her hands. “I’ll do whatever needs to be done to protect this planet and our allies.” 

Kim swallowed. 

*** 

Optimus was at the edge of the mesa, looking out toward Jasper. He didn’t glance back as Kim approached. After a moment, Kim took out her phone. The evening interview was still on the schedule. Kim flipped to the glyph ap and sent a time ping. 

He turned sharply, one of his antennae visibly shifting to focus on her. “Well, I know I didn’t startle you,” she said. “Humans trip, like, three kinds of proximity alarms.” 

“No,” he agreed flatly. 

“Are you…angry with me?” 

“No,” again. “I am not in the best mood,” he added after a moment. 

“If you don’t want to work tonight…we could hit the wash racks. Or there’s off-roading.”

A creak almost like a sigh, as he turned his body towards her and leaned forward slightly. “We must work tonight.” 

Kim nodded agreeably, keeping her face and body language soft. She waited. When he made no move to lift her or transform, Kim fetched the folding chair from under a solar panel and set it up in his shadow so she wouldn’t be staring into the sun. “Name the topic,” she said cheerfully, digging for her notebook. 

“Less ethnography and more…social analysis.” 

Kim’s hands stilled. This might be a no-notes conversation. “All right.” 

“How was your meeting with Mearing?” 

Oh. “Okay. She mainly wanted a tutorial in glyphs.” 

“Ah.” He turned slightly away, looking out past the edge of the mesa. “And your impression of Charlotte Mearing herself?” 

“My impression?” 

“Your analysis,” he clarified patiently.

“She’s very smart,” Kim said immediately. “Every bit as terrifying as I expected. I’m glad she’s on our side.” Kim smiled, trying to shift the conversation to lighter ground. 

“Is she? On our side?” His optics were turned away from her, but she was directly in the sights of both sonar and electromagnetics. 

“You’re asking me?”

“Is the question unclear?” 

Kim’s eyes narrowed before she could stop them. He trusted Mearing, there was no question of that. If someone was being tested, it was not the National Security Director. “Yes. That’s my opinion.” 

He nodded slowly. “Ah. What evidence led to this conclusion?”

Aside from the fact that you trust her? Kim didn’t roll her eyes. Really, she hadn’t been in the field very long, after all. He had a right to test her. “Mostly…she’s come to some unlikely conclusions about your…social structure,” Kim said carefully. “She thinks she has figured out a secret. And she’s keeping it to herself. To protect all of you.” 

“Unlikely conclusions?” he prompted. 

“Wildly.” Kim winced. “But. You know. Her job is not my job. And her training is not my training. And she doesn’t get the conversations I get….”

“I was unaware of this fault in her judgement.” 

If he was testing her, what kind of test was it? Honesty, surely. Kim took a deep breath and plunged in: “There were a couple of errors in judgement today. But. She’s mostly right, most of the time. And. She still outmaneuvered you.”

He turned to face her, crouching down to settle on the mesa. “Is that how it seemed to you?” 

“Optimus. You didn’t want another bodyguard.”

“No. I don’t.” 

Kim stood up, took a step forward. “I don’t think she would have put you in that position if—if she’d understood. I don’t know why she’d even…This wasn’t her idea, was it? Someone set her on you.”

“Very likely.”

Ugh. “Who was it? Lennox? Jazz?” 

“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.” 

Kim let her breath out hard. “This is really bad. I should have said something, stopped it.” 

“I could not avoid the issue forever,” he said heavily. 

“No, this is really bad.” Optimus had broken so many habits of thinking and social norms to get Ironhide to resign. And now there was a new bodyguard, and if Bulkhead was hurt or killed doing this duty, Optimus would never forgive himself. “And bulkhead isn’t as smart as ‘Hide.” 

“Bulkhead is a competent engineer,” Optimus corrected. “Hm. And Ironhide goes to great effort to conceal his intelligence.” 

“Yeah. Very folksy and all. But under that ‘Hide is a steal trap. He could handle you, mostly. Bulkhead….” She trailed off, unwilling to finish. 

“I reject the implication that I was handled,” he said, voice flat enough that Kim was not sure if he was being sarcastic or not. “And the steal traps of your planet are not intelligent. They are simple mechanisms.” 

Kim shook her head. “Sharp. Fast. Implacable. Ironhide is very thorough. He thinks things out in advance. He’s--” Not Bulkhead.

The silence stretched between them for almost a minute. Optimus said, “I will not interfere with Bulkhead’s duties.” 

“That’s good,” Kim whispered. I want you both alive. She closed her eyes. 

“Earlier you mentioned Mearing made unlikely conclusions about our social structure.” 

A change of subject; Kim accepted it gratefully. “She was pretty sure it’s a matriarchy. She thought Chromia might be pregnant.” 

“What do you mean? I don’t understand.” His helm angled down, optics focused narrowly. 

“Um. Pregnant. Gravid. Carrying babies? Or…eggs maybe?” 

Slowly, Optimus leaned backward, almost a retreat. “What a disturbing idea.” 

“Have you tried explaining…?” Or was this a deliberate deception? But no, Optimus had been clear; he did not want to be perceived as feminine at all. 

“I have tried. So has Bumblebee. It was not particularly successful, but as you said, her training is not yours….” His optics reset. “I cannot imagine the thought process that concluded pregnancy.” 

Kim nodded. “Yeah.” Kim looked down, scuffing at the mesa with her toe. “But this is really basic social structure, and she doesn’t understand—I think we have to figure out how to explain—I mean, we can’t let her keep thinking this.”

“Agreed.” 

A matriarchy and Chromia pregnant. How did you get so off-base? Kim sighed, considered returning to her chair. “Wait. Was she wrong about Chromia? I mean, she can’t be pregnant, that isn’t where little mecha come from.” 

“Not pregnant. Of course. However….” 

Kim made a face. “Chromia’s not pregnant, but…?” 

“Chromia and Windblade are both carrying one thousand and sixty-eight fish hatcheries.” 

Kim thought about that. “I assume the English glossary crashed on the translation?” Fish hatcheries seemed to be a default for untranslatable ideas.

“Correct.” 

“Can you describe--?” 

“English lacks several of the necessary concepts.” 

“Right. Okay. Chromia and Windblade are carrying…not eggs.”

“Please, don’t be vulgar.” 

“Right.” Kim bit her lip. He wasn’t giving her a lot of help here, but Kim couldn’t let it go. “Tiny mecha?”

“Souls,” He said, voice flattening. 

One-thousand and sixty-eight. Each. “So…they’re in… her spark chamber?”

“Of course not. That would be immediately fatal.” 

“They each have their own spark chamber?” Kim had seen Ratchet’s anatomy diagrams. Over a thousand spark chambers and Chromia would be the size of a house. “Are they in her subspace pockets?”

“No!” The answer was punctuated with a Cybertonix explicative indicating surprise. “Kim. They are not active. They are stored as data. Magnetically, not in quartz. First of Line have dedicated drives. The translation program is offering ‘zip file’ but I find the term blasphemous.” 

The souls are stored as data. 

Because they are patterns of electromagnetic waves in a magnetic bottle. 

Chromia is pregnant. 

Shit. Always assume Mearing is right.

Softly: “Kim?”

She scrubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hand. “Oh. But. Where did they get—I mean I thought Vector Sigma and the Matrix—”

“The packet Chromia is carrying was given to her by Vector Sigma. The packet Windblade is carrying was generated by the Creation Matrix.” 

Kim blinked. “So. You and Windblade--?” Kim found herself blushing. 

“Windblade and I—what?” 

The blush burned hotter. “You and Windblade….made babies….” 

“You are confusing gender and sex. We are not biological beings. We do not occlude the sacred work of reproduction with social entanglements, pleasure, personal affection, or romantic rituals.” He had dropped the nonverbal pack. Shit. 

“Right. Yes. Sorry. Biocentrism. I—sorry.” 

“It is a religious ritual,” he went on, the words swift and inflectionless. “Dawn is the traditional time. There are prayers, hymns to Primus, attendants, heralds. Often there was also a going-away party, since First of Line bearing the data of a new generation were often dispatched to ferry their cargo to colonies and outposts.” 

“I apologize. I realize I was disrespectful--” 

“The dormant souls that rest within Windblade’s drive—there was no proper ceremony. No cathedral. No choir. No attendants. The Matrix blessed her in a crumbling access tunnel below what was left of the Central Iacon Transit Hub. We did not have time for prayers. Earlier that day, Megatron had bombed a citadel where twenty-eight First of Line were sheltering. He dropped fusion bombs on it from space. “

Kim realized she was trembling. She knotted her hands into fists. Her fingernails were hard and sharp against the heel of her hand. 

“Windblade’s mentor was in the citadel. And her best friend. Even her personal rival. My senior tactical analyst. My minister of performing arts. My…dearest, most beloved friend.” His vocalizer reset. “Dead in a moment. And the war was going badly. It was clear that…the few First of Line that remained must be dispersed: scattered, with the treasure they could carry, whatever future our species might have. We were weeping when we made address to one another and I entreated the Matrix for its blessing.” 

“I’m sorry—”

“And now we are here; I and Chromia and Windblade and the few beloved who remain. Cyberton is silent. Vector Sigma has closed himself from us. The Allspark is destroyed. I yet carry the Cradle of Primus, the Receptacle of Holy Wisdom. It is a well of life nearly as deep as infinity itself. That is a particularly satisfying idiom you do not appreciate.”

Kim opened her mouth, closed it, forced herself not to look away. 

“I carry a boundless Well of Life, and yet my people are barren. We are near extinction. Our survival, if it is possible, is in the hands of our human allies. Mearing. Keller. Moreshower. Yourself. And you—” 

“I can’t afford to be making biocentric mistakes,” Kim whispered quickly. “I’m sorry. You’re right.” 

The silence stretched between them, long seconds of void. Kim shut her eyes. 

“Forgive me. I should have not spoken so harshly,” Optimus said. 

Kim needed to open her eyes. She needed every scrap of information. Misunderstandings were such a danger here. “Harsh? Calmly telling the truth…just does not count as being harsh.” Kim sighed. She forced here eyes open. “You okay?”

“I am able to carry out my duties.” 

“Oh,” Kim breathed. “I’m sorry. I…just don’t know what to say that would be encouraging or reassuring.” 

“I should have accepted your offer to go off-roading. I was not…in a good place for this discussion tonight.” 

Kim took a step forward. Even seated as he was, his spark chamber was far out of reach for overlapping. 

“Perhaps—” he stilled abruptly, optical sensors resetting but not refocusing. In the silence, Kim could hear her own heartbeat. As the silence stretched on, it sped up. 

He’s talking to someone. Obviously. But radio conversations were faster than spoken ones, even in verbal Cybertronix. And thoughtful pauses were only tiny hesitations by human standards. Oh hell. “What’s wrong?” The words were out before she could stop them. 

“Kim. A report. From Australia.” His optics reset again. “They have found an energon deposit. The estimate is one thousand, four hundred and twenty kilograms with a margin of error of four percent.” 

Kim gasped. “That’s—that’s over a ton!”

“Yes,” his optical lenses swiveling to focus on her face. “To use a sentimental measurement system, it is over a ton.” 

Sentimental measurement system. He thinks we have a sentimental measurement system. Do we have a sentimental measurement system? Oh. Do they? 

“That’s…a lot. Um. Decepticons? I mean—”

“They will not find it. The deposit is in an abandoned opal mine. A space large enough to open a ground bridge just underground can easily be carved out. There will be no need to take the energon to the surface. The Decepticons will never notice it.” 

“My god. Dark energon?”

“No sign of it.” 

Kim blinked. “Wow.” 

“Indeed.” 

Kim’s neck was cricking a bit from looking almost straight up at him. She tilted her back and stretched for a more comfortable angle. “Is this…a miracle?” 

“Alpha Trion was certain that all energon was a direct gift of Primus. But when He could have placed it here--or why--is beyond my information.” 

“It…wasn’t here, though, was it? The opal miners never found it. Energon is appearing.” 

“It is.” 

“Do you know why?”

“I know it’s coming faster now, because of the changes Megatron made in the planet’s magnetic field. I do not know why it started. To say it is a miracle is too simple. And yet.” His voice was very quiet. “Over a ton, Kim.” 

“Over a ton.” Kim closed her eyes. Surely, there was noting to be afraid of. Yes, energon was strange. But without it the Aubots had no future on Earth, no way to defend the planet from Decepticon incursion.

“Would you like to see Australia?”

Kim made a face. “Of course. But twenty-four hours on a plane doesn’t sound worth it.” 

“The nearest airport that can accommodate a C130 is over six hours from the site. I was thinking we would travel by ground bridge—”

“Wait—you mean now? Can I—is that even legal? I don’t have a visa.” Did you need a visa for Australia?

“You have a NEST identification card. Australia is a signator to the treaty.”

“Oh. Right. Now? Do I have time to grab some stuff from my room?”

“Yes. Our transit is scheduled in twenty-three minutes.” 

At a run, Kim exchanged jeans and hiking boots for her shorts and sneakers. Bottled water. Power bar. Hat. Quick trip to the bathroom. 

*** 

They came out of the groundbridge to a dessert drier and harder than Nevada. Redder, too, than Nevada. 

It also looked a bit like it had been bombed. There were holes and heaps of dirt everywhere. Kim felt an environmentalist pang for the disruption to the land. Mining. 

Optimus rolled forward slowly, steering carefully around gaping holes and piles of red soil and rock. He stopped before going very far. “There is undermining. I cannot go further. My mass is a threat to the soil structure.” 

“Eeep.” 

A few yards away, standing over one of the pits, Graham was taking pictures on a tablet. “Can I get out and…?” Kim asked. 

“Certainly.” The door opened obligingly. 

Kim patted the dash. “Be right back.” 

It was bright—noon?—but startlingly cool. Belatedly, Kim remembered it was winter in Australia--and also sometime tomorrow. 

I’m in Australia. 

She wished she’d brought sun glasses. 

The sky was very blue, but the plain under it was interrupted by miniature mountains and dark holes. Kim had to walk around one of the holes—and its huge chat pile—to get to the NEST site on the other side. She wasn’t expecting to turn the corner and find Miko perched on a broken bit of rock, tapping avidly on her phone. “Oh! Hi!” 

Miko waved cheerfully without looking up.

“What are you doing?” Kim asked. 

“Playing ‘Draw Something’ with Wheeljack. He gets bored when he’s between orbital maneuvers.” 

“No, uh, I mean, what are you doing here? I mean, isn’t it after dinner time at home?”

“Yeah,” she shrugged. “I guess. We’re on a three day patrol. You know. A field trip. My reward for staying out of trouble. We were supposed to leave this morning, but Jazz called a meeting or something.”

“Oh. Right.” They had kept Bulkhead around for Mearing’s ambush of Optimus. “So, it was you and Bulkhead who found the mine?” 

“Yup. Our lucky day. About time, too; I can’t tell you how much nothing we’ve driven through. Not that Bulkhead’s as happy about it as you’d think. He’s been in a mood all afternoon.”

Kim glanced around. “So, where’s Bulkhead now?”

She pointed upward. Kim took a step back and looked up. Sure enough, Bulkhead was parked on top of the dirt heap. Kim waved. Bulkhead, in alt, did not wave back. “Standing guard?” Kim asked. 

“Controlling a drone down in the pit,” she waved a hand vaguely. “You should go down. It’s all the way weird.” A dismissal, but Kim could live with it. She walked on around the rubble. 

The next pile over had Drift parked on top of it. Between his and Bulkhead’s chat perches was a hole. It was about five feet across. And there was a pole sticking out of it. Graham was to one side, setting one of the nodules that would generate a camouflage field. “Dr. Montgomery. Do you want to do go down?”

“Into the mine? Is it allowed?” Um. “Is it safe?”

“Sure. Jetstorm and Carson are down there now.” 

Uncertainly, Kim went to the edge. The hole looked deep. It was dark at the bottom. Eeep. “Is there a…ladder?” 

“Tap the pole. The lift will come up.” 

Kim tapped the pole. It vibrated slightly, and a few moments later a disk emerged from the darkness. It stopped at ground level. Kim frowned at it. It must be sturdy enough to support a minicon. But it had no hand railing. 

Graham, unpacking another projector nodule, glanced over at her. “Sit down on it. Much less terrifying that way.”

“Um, okay. How deep is the whole?”

“Nineteen meters. Not too bad.” 

“Right. No.” Kim clutched her bag more securely and then sat crosslegged on the disk. 

The drop into darkness was uncomfortably fast. Brief, at least. A very brief, unpleasant carnival ride. Kim staggered a bit standing up at the bottom. 

Kim blinked, knowing it wouldn’t help her eyes adjust. The bottom of the shaft was wider than the opening at the top. Kim peered into the dimness. Two tunnels branched out from the sides. They were wide, but low. Kim be able to stand—barely. There is no way Jetstorm had fit. “Hello?” Kim called softly. 

“This way.” The answer came from one of the side tunnels, and it did sound like the minicon. Using her phone as a light, Kim stepped into the dark opening. 

The walls shone dizzyingly in the dim light. All around her now, there were pale streaks of color. It couldn’t be opals—the miners had taken that out. 

A sudden brightness behind her, casting long shadows in front of her, and Kim turned. One of the new NEST mining techs with a military grade flashlight and a sample case. “You should really have a hardhat her, ma’am,” he said absently. He was looking more at the walls than at Kim. “But it’s pretty stable. They hollow these out to make houses, sometimes.” His insignia was Army Corps of Engineers. 

“The structure is currently sound. That may change when we start to expand the west chamber,” Jetstorm’s voice, and Kim turned around. She had to look down to see him; he was a sphere slightly less than a yard across. Right. His alt form fit just fine in little tunnels. “Is this the first time you’ve seen raw energon?” 

It was all around her, even streaked across the floor. Photos and video hadn’t done it justice. In the bright flashlight it gleamed the entire spectrum of colors, sparkly and pearlescent at the same time. Looking at it made her feel faintly uneasy. “Is it safe? I didn’t think….I mean, humans and energon don’t mix.” 

“It’s refined energon you have to stay away from. Like, this it’s pretty inert. You can touch it.” 

Hesitantly, Kim did. The crystals were prickly and sharp, the planes between the corners were soft like silk. It felt very weird. “More than a ton…” she whispered, thinking of how desperately this pretty rock was needed. Like food. Like water. Like blood. Like air. It was months of life for her friends in this old mine. She should feel warm about it, happy. 

It was creepy. 

Kim took a breath and touched it again. It was…strange. She lifted her camera and videoed the light playing across the bright surface. “So much of it. How did it—this isn’t an old mine like in Tennessee. It didn’t have years….How is there so much of it so fast?” 

The mining tech—his uniform said his name was “Carson”—shrugged. “This area was mined out about twenty-five years ago. But we suspect actual energon accumulation happens pretty fast.” He looked very young. Kim had had students when she was a TA who looked older. His expertise came from education not experience. Still. If to be attached to NEST he must have had the best education. 

“How does it happen?” Kim had never heard an explanation of energon formation that made sense.

“The current theory is that it is an intrusive mineral; liquid in the mantel that is forced up through cracks by pressure until it cools and forms crystals.”

Jetstrom muttered a tickety-beep. “Are you using metaphors because Kim is not a specialist in geological studies?” 

He glanced at Kim. “Not particularly.” He shrugged. “I gave her the short version.” 

“Oh. I think I understand.” He rotated. “That explanation is completely wrong.” 

Carson sighed, but Kim perked up at the opportunity; maybe—here, now, surrounded by this miraculous abundance—she would get a clear answer. “Where does it come from?” 

“The word ‘liquid’ is incorrect. ‘Plasma’ would be better.” 

Carson glanced at Kim out of the corner of his eye and said, “Plasma? There is no way it would be that hot. I mean if were coming up directly from the Earth’s core, maybe but—”

Jetstorm wobbled. “I don’t understand. Why would energon be hot? Dispersing energy as heat would be very wasteful.” 

Carson opened his mouth. Nothing came out. 

Kim shot him a sympathetic look and tried. “Is energon designed not to be wasteful? Or does it have its own intentionality not to be wasteful?” She realized she was asking crazy questions, but none of the saner ones had elicited useful answers. 

“The phrasing necessary in English implied intentionality,” Jetstorm said thoughtfully. “In Cybertronix, I would have said,” Kim understood not a single word of the long statement that followed. 

She sighed. Another failure. “Okay. Remember that. I’ll ask you to explain it later. I…should probably get out of your way.” 

“That would be well,” Jetstorm agreed. Kim decided to assume he didn’t mean it rudely. 

*** 

The trip back to light and breeze was as disorienting as the drop into the shaft had been. Kim stepped onto the ground—normal, regular, Earth—and sighed with relief. And a little irritation. It was silly to be creeped out by energon. So what if it was alien? Some of her best friends were alien. Hell, energon wasn’t even from space. Manifestly, it was from here. 

Miko waved as Kim passed. Kim glanced up at the hummer parked atop the chat pile. Bulkhead had been ‘in a mood’ all afternoon. Kim felt a stab of sympathy. He was now officially responsible for the safety of the Prime, which would certainly freak him out even if Optimus didn’t have a reputation for excessive risk-taking, disabling his own safeties, and not respecting his bodyguards. Poor bots. If Kim could have thought of anything encouraging to say….

Optimus was as she had left him; a big rig far from any road, hemmed in by abandoned mine shafts and mounds of rubble. She patted the door frame as she climbed in and said cheerfully, “You doing okay?” 

“Yes, thank you. What did you think of the excavation?” 

“There’s not a lot of space down there. I don’t know how you are going to open a ground bridge down there.”

“The diameter of the aperture is adjustable. A portable focusing unit will be necessary, but we have one.”

“Oh.”

“What did you think of the raw energon?”

“There was a lot of it. It wasn’t in sheets, it was in….like streams that spread. Or branches.”

“A fractal flow system.” 

Kim shrugged, wondering if that was an English phrase or an attempt at a translation. “It was all over the inside of the mine. I wish I could show you directly, but I don’t have port.” She smiled self-depreciatingly. 

The faint vibration of his torque engine stuttered. 

“What did I say?” Kim asked. “Oh, that was—I’m not supposed to—the higher status person is supposed to suggest filesharing. Sorry.”

“Ah. No. In fact, as you are collecting data under my direct supervision, if you were a mech it would be assumed…under normal circumstances, yes, I would receive data files from you directly. It is the idea of an analog file that I found disconcerting.” 

“Yep. I resemble that remark. We’re just bundles of chaotic data. But I got some pictures on my phone. That’s nice digital data. You can have that if you want.” 

“Kim.” He paused. “What was your impression of the energon?” 

“Well…there is a lot….”

“You have said. Is that all you perceived?” 

“It was bright. Lots of colors….” Kim thought for a moment. “It doesn’t feel like a rock.” 

“You touched it?”

“Yeah…that was safe, right?” 

“It is not hazardous to biological life in this form. However, our NEST partners have exhibited… mild reluctance to handle it unnecessarily.” 

“Strange. It’s very pretty. Like a cross between opals and amethysts. Except it’s really bright. Like it’s reflecting invisible light back in visible frequencies…?”

“It fluoresces, yes. You think it is visually appealing.” 

“Yeah. I mean, it should be, it’s got all the….but I wouldn’t want to make a necklace out of it. I wouldn’t want it in my jewelry box. Or on my body. That’s strange, because….” 

“It meets human aesthetic standards.” 

“Yes. Um. Do other biological life forms get creeped out by energon? I mean, on other planets?” 

“Not that I am aware. But there have been few opportunities to test the phenomena.” 

Kim took a deep breath. “Optimus, what is it? How does it form?” 

“Perhaps if I explain it as being related to electricity, in that ionization of the atoms rather than their composition is the source of potential energy. However, unlike electricity….” And that was the end of what Kim understood. If it can be said that she understood even that. Was electricity ‘potential energy’? 

Kim asked about plasma, so he talked about that for a while, and, in the abstract plasma seemed straight forward. Then neutrinos entered the discussion and it all slid away again. 

“Wait! Are we talking about dark matter?”

“Ah. What do you think that label refers to?” 

Patiently, gently, and with great detail, Optimus tried to explain what energon was. He tried from several directions. Kim finished her water and ate her granola bar. Australian afternoon turned to Australian evening. According to Kim’s watch it was close to midnight. 

And still, Kim did not understand even the most general explanation of what energon was, how it formed, or how it sustained mech life. 

“You are tired,” Optimus said finally. “I should take you home.” 

“Do you want to go home?” 

“It will not inconvenience me to return to Nevada.” 

Did he sound reluctant? Would Kim be in a hurry to leave the largest food source on an alien planet mostly barren of biological life? She patted the base of the hula dancer dash ornament. “I could just go pee behind that heap of rocks and fall asleep here. I don’t think that’s taboo—NEST teams do it on patrol.” 

“If you would be comfortable…I appreciate the consideration. Step carefully. The shadows are long and some of the nocturnal inhabitants are starting to stir.”

Ew. The internet was full of memes about the way small Australian animals tried to kill you. She made a short, careful trip. 

*** 

“Kim? The site is secured and preparation for the ground bridge aperture will begin tomorrow. I am ready to return to base. You should put on your seat belt.” 

Kim stretched and checked her analog watch. It was just past six. Not the longest night’s sleep she had ever had and –shit, she had gone to sleep without doing her fieldnotes! “Yeah. Okay. I’m ready.” 

“Seatbelt,” he reminded again. 

Kim settled back and braced for ground bridge transit. Was it worth it to flop down on her bed for a little more sleep? Or should she just shower and get on with the day? 

~TBC


	2. Outlook

Apparently, Kim had left her light on and her door open. Sloppy. She didn’t usually—

She hadn’t. Fixit was crouched in the corner next to the mini-fridge. Oh, hell— “Fixit? Sweetheart? What’s happened? Are you okay?” She started forward, and then stopped. She was nearly his size, if not his mass. She didn’t want to crowd him. “Has someone hurt you?”

His eyes—large layered disks rather than the compound lenses of higher-end optics—twisted brightly as they focused. “Why would someone hurt me--?” 

Right. Why? NEST was at war, but it wasn’t a dangerous place. “Well. Now that you mention it, I don’t know. But maybe someone… said something…you know…by accident. You’re kind of vulnerable right now.” She smiled carefully. “It’s been a rough month.”

“Oh. I see. No, one has been unkind. I—” he broke off and shifted—somehow—closer to the wall. “Kim, my procedure is this afternoon.” 

“I didn’t forget. I’ll be sitting with Maggie while, um, while Ratchet does his thing.” 

“Yes. I appreciate your kindness to Maggie. You have also been kind to me. That is why I wished to speak to you.” 

“Oh. Sure. Hey, would you mind if I came over and got a bottle of tea from the fridge?”

“Why are you asking if—Kim, I am not afraid of you.” 

“Okay.” Kim retrieved a bottle of tea and a single-serving cup of applesauce from the fridge and settled cross-legged on the floor about three feet in front of Fixit. “Why don’t you tell me what’s the matter?”

“I am afraid.” 

Kim wondered if she should guess. There was so much Fixit could be afraid of. The war. The energon supply. The planet full of aliens. The major surgery scheduled for later today. “Can you tell me a little more about it?” 

He shifted slightly. 

“Fixit… where’s Maggie?” 

“Maggie is at her apartment, sleeping. She promised to stay with me tonight, while I run the maintenance cycles. Humans must run maintenance cycles with great frequency.” 

“Yeah, okay. Are you worried about the procedure?” 

“I am worried about after the procedure.” 

“Are you worried about Optimus linking in and setting up your partitions and priorities?” 

“That will be a little painful, but I am not afraid.”

Kim’s brows went up. She had not been told any stage of the procedure would be painful. “I would be afraid of pain,” she offered. 

“Damage is to be feared. Pain is temporary. It will end when there are no more error messages.” 

“Oh. What do you think might get damaged?”

“I’m going to be very smart,” he said. “My processors will be able to run up to nine parallel tracks. And when they come on line, I will analyze everything. And just now, I am wondering, what conclusions will I reach with those fast processors? What will I conclude about myself, about Maggie, about all I have done? What will I desire when I see the world differently?” 

Kim blinked. “Oh. But. It’s just a part. A replacement part. It won’t change you.” 

“I will not change. But I will know things I do not know now, and…I am not sure I will like them.” 

“Oh. Yeah. I can…sympathize with that.” 

“You are not afraid of knowing things.” 

“I’m afraid of some… things, though. I know what it’s like to be afraid.”

Fixit hummed softly. 

Mecha didn’t ingest energon to alter the pacing of a conversation, but Kim needed time to think. She opened the applesauce. Without a spoon, she had to kind of dribble it in. It bought her a few seconds. “Are you… Are you maybe thinking of putting it off?” 

“Delay would not solve my problem. And my help is needed at the bridge as quickly as possible.”

“Right. We can’t solve this problem. I wish I knew what to do.” 

“I was not seeking solutions. Only comfort.” 

Kim’s heart sank. “Fixit, I’m not the right person for that either. My field isn’t strong enough for…effective overlapping.” 

“That is true.”

Kim would have preferred a less firm agreement about her total uselessness. She took a deep breath. “What should we do about this?” 

Fixit looked away. “I am supposed to be running a maintenance cycle before the procedure.”

“But you can’t sleep.” 

He paused. “Metaphorically.” 

Miserably, Kim got out her phone. Fixit needed help a human just wasn’t equipped to give. She pulled up the schedule. 

Optimus—he would make time for Fixit if he could—was listed as ‘off duty’ and ‘in shutdown.’ So, no. He was barely meeting Ratchet’s latest rest requirements. 

Ironhide—Argentina. Right. Yes. No help there. 

Hound—on base, but in NEST meetings. Well, he didn’t know Fixit very well anyway. 

Arcee—Energon retrieval, Chad. 

Kim scowled. “You get along okay with Slipstream, right? Let’s go visit Max.” 

Slipstream was a sphere cradled by the room’s new beanbag. For a moment Kim thought he was shut down, but he beeped a “Hi” and added in uninflected English, “I cannot pay attention to you right now. One of our satellites has a very stubborn infection.” 

“Can we visit Max?” 

“Max not busy. Feline.” 

Kim winced sympathetically at Slipstream, but didn’t distract him by saying anything else. Max was perched on the highest platform of the cat gym peering down at them. “Yo, Max,” Kim whispered. 

Fixit rolled up on his wheels and telescoped his neck slightly, so that he was eye level with the cat. “Greetings, Max.” 

Max sniffed the air delicately. 

“Do you know anything about cats?” Kim asked. 

“No. I have not had the bandwidth for that research. I am now downloading the tolerances packet.”

Kim picked up a stick with a bundle of feathers on the end. She ran it across the next highest pedestal, intending to bring it slowly closer in a tempting way. Instead, Max leaped for it, claws catching with a ripping noise as she scrambled across the platform’s carpet. Fixit jerked back so quickly he toppled to the floor on his—well, it was actually too narrow and sharply angled to call a butt. He crashed so loudly on it, though, that Max levitated into a spin, leaped off the platform, and vanished into one of the little hutches in the corner of the room. 

Slumping, Fixit said, “That did not go well.” 

Kim squatted beside him. “She didn’t mean to frighten you.” 

“I did not intend to frighten her. I am told that first contact with new species is often complex…” He seemed doubtful.

“I’ve only done it the once….” Kim said, eyeing the hole Max had darted into. 

“Max is my second alien species. Humans are not this difficult.” 

“Thanks. That’s nice of you to say.”

Without speaking, Slipstream rolled out of the bean bag chair, paused to transform and un-subspace a jar of shredded fish jerky, and collapsed back into a sphere to roll away.

Kim handed the jar to Fixit. “Stay sitting down. It’s less scary. And shake the bottle.” 

Max came out meowing. She’d seen bigger, faster mecha than Fixit, and now he had treats. 

“Now what?” Fixit asked nervously. He really wasn’t built to sit on the floor. 

Kim took the jar of fish bits and set a pinch of cat treat on the floor next to Fixit’s hip. Max gulped it down in a single bite and head-butted Fixit’s side. The soft, sharp Cybertronic expletive sounded almost like a gasp. 

Gently, Kim patted them both. “Good kitty.” 

“Good kitty,” Fixit agreed. 

“No sonic scans,” Kim reminded. 

Fixit leaned slowly down, his optical lenses continuously resetting. “I will not forget. I attempt to be a good mech.” 

“Oh, honey. You’re a good mech.” 

She showed him how to slowly drag a string, Max stalking savagely after it. It would have been nice if Max had been willing to settle down to nap—a quiet pause would have done Fixit good, but Max had her own plans. 

“Very beautiful,” Fixit said. “Sometimes the others put their files of Earth animals on the server. The resolution doesn’t do them justice.” 

Max, only a day out of her cast, got tired of running around fairly quickly. Kim found a narrow-toothed comb in the toy basket and taught Fixit to gently comb through the orange fur. Max tilted up her chin and drooled; Kim was grateful for that bit of cooperation. Good kitty.

Fixit stressed a bit about how much –really not very much—of the undercoat shed. “Surely, it is not normal. The tolerance file says—”

“Normal,” Kim interrupted firmly. “She makes more. It feels good to have the extra out.”

Fixit slowly looked her up and down. “You do not shed this much. And your fur is longer.” 

“Not much, and it’s hair because I am not a cat.” 

Slipstream saved her then, rolling over and transforming straight into a seated position on the floor. He held out his servo for the puff of fuzz and Fixit handed it over. “This is a nice sample,” Slipstream said earnestly. “It is an excellent addition to my collection.” And then he subspaced it. 

Kim blinked. “So. You’re…collecting fur?” 

“Yes. Would you like to see?”

“Um. Maybe later.”

Slipstream shrugged and turned to Fixit. “Have you run your pre-op adjustment cycles yet?” 

“Not…yet.” Fixit glanced at Kim. 

The stubby receivers on Slipstream’s helm retracted slightly, a subordinating gesture Kim had noticed from both of Drift’s students. “It is not my place to suggest….” 

Fixit shifted slightly. His beep was a negative. 

“If you would prefer not to shut down alone—”

“I prefer not to shut down at all.” The annoyance cues from his language pack were nicely nuanced. 

Perhaps Slipstream took the hint; he didn’t press. 

Well. Damn. “Is, um, there something we should be doing?” Kim asked. 

“Procedure requires I shut down for…preparation.” 

“You are welcome to stay here,” Slipstream said. “I myself am due for a defragmentation cycle.” He faced Kim significantly. 

“Right,” Kim said. “I have fieldnotes to catch up on. As much fun as it is to hang with Max.”

Oooo. Damn. Kim couldn’t force herself to look at either of them as she gathered her bag and retreated. She had thought she had been a friendly distraction for Fixit while he waited for his upgrades. It was looking like she was an excuse not to…not to what? Take a nap and run some applications? 

It wasn’t like sleeping. Mecha normally didn’t have ‘trouble’ settling down and doing it. 

Kim gathered up her laptop and a ‘breakfast’ milkshake and settled on the ancient mezzanine sofa, replaying the last hour. She had thought she had understood what was going on. She had thought. 

But Fixit was cognitively compromised. His deficiencies had been creatively compensated for. What she had learned in the last couple of months about how mecha thought and spent their time…might not apply to him just now.

It was quite in the base, even compared to the last couple of weeks; the few Autobots that weren’t patrolling the search routes had gone to Australia for energon retrieval. Kim was grateful for the lack of activity. She hadn’t even written up yesterday, and already this morning…. 

Damn. Fixit. 

And what was the relationship between the minicons anyway? 

Did Slipstream and Jetstorm share Fixit’s mechanical limitations? They were combat models. Jetstorm patrolled. Not alone, because his size made him conspicuous, but still. And Slipstream had excellent long-distance radio and enough processing power to hunt and disarm viruses. 

It was her job to ask awkward, intrusive questions. But you had to do it the right way. And you had to ask the right person. And it had to be the right question. 

Hell. 

Thinking of ‘awkward and intrusive’ brought energon to mind. Humans couldn’t seem to ask the right questions about it. And it didn’t matter who you asked, the answer wasn’t clear. Maybe it was just incomprehensible. Humans didn’t have the physics to understand it. Or maybe it was math. Math was supposed to be a universal language, but the math humans had invented…might not cover the whole universe. Either way, it wasn’t Kim’s area. The physics of energon wasn’t an ethnographic issue. It wasn’t language or religion or food or—

It was religion. And food. The problem explaining it might be a language problem. She should be very interested in this. She should be all about this. 

Since last night, though, she had gotten much less curious. Since she’d seen it. 

It had been pretty, and she hadn’t wanted to touch it. It was important and…her mind had wandered when Optimus tried to explain it. She had been ready to drop the issue and move on a moment ago….

Well? So what? Whether she was curious about it or not, it wasn’t something she could understand anyway. 

Slowly, she picked up her notebook and wrote—on every eighth page—Follow up Energon. 

*** 

Ratchet drilled the trainees on Fixit’s procedure from ten to noon. It was all too specialized for Kim to follow, so she took her notes on Ratchet’s interactions with his students. Or, today, his assistants. Everyone had learned two jobs—their own and someone else’s so they could back up in case something went wrong. Of course, if they had been mecha, they would simply have gotten files for all of the positions.

June and Epps were unusually serious, asking very detailed questions and rotating Ratchet’s three-dimensional diagrams around and around. 

Most days, Dr. Nomura tended to be more interested in theoretical information about mecha engineering than the nuts and bolts of repair and replacement, but today he seemed almost eager about the surgery. He was both a medical doctor and a prosthetics engineer, and there was very little opportunity to work with mech processors (they were well-shielded and rarely malfunctioned). He took notes avidly in a combination of English, Japanese, and—occasionally—Cybertronix characters. He was, he explained, learning to decipher error messages in case of an emergency where they were not translated. 

Carly was just…confident. She flipped through her notebook of procedures, contingencies, and diagrams calmly smiling. The solution to Fixit’s problems was at hand. Why wouldn’t she be happy?

Carly was less a worrier than Kim. 

Pierre, normally on the quiet side, was downright silent. Aside from answering when Ratchet drilled him on his role, he didn’t talk to anyone. His answers— Kim didn’t know if they were correct, but Ratchet was satisfied—were quiet and brief. He did not look at the other trainees.

When the class broke for lunch, Kim slipped up to him. “You okay?” she asked. 

He shrugged. 

Kim waited, keeping her own gaze soft. 

“It’s hard, some days. You aren’t working on things, you’re working on friends. I was never trained for that.” He shrugged again. 

Dr. Nomura, putting away his notes, glanced up. “This procedure will do the patient a great deal of good. There is satisfaction in any work well done…but even more in a something truly beneficial.” 

Pierre smiled modestly. “Perhaps I will get used to the pressure. Sooner or later.” 

Dr. Nomura considered for a moment, then shrugged very slowly. “It matters that you are competent. You are not obligated to be comfortable.” 

Kim blinked, unsure for a moment if Dr. Nomura was being bitchy. Or something. But no, Pierre was smiling slightly, blushing a little under his dark skin. 

Ratchet clicked impatiently. “Chop, chop. Humans need to eat regularly. And don’t forget to eject your waste. The procedure will take nearly four hours.” 

Kim swiftly looked away and bit the inside of her lip so she wouldn’t laugh. Carly didn’t bother trying to hide her amusement. She slapped Ratchet across the shin as she climbed down past him. “No worries, Boss. We’ve had these squishy bodies for a while.” 

Ratchet approximated a tolerant snort. 

Kim was closing her notebook when the words at the top of the page caught her eye. She glanced at Dr. Nomura. “So. Big energon find last night.” 

He was already starting down the ladder. “Yes. If the patrol schedule weren’t so strict, there might have been another party.” He looked up and flashed a tiny smile. “I have heard about Autobot parties. I consider this a near miss.” 

“Yeah. I’ll give it some thought, make sure the next party is better…” She trailed off, realizing he had been making a joke. As far as Kim had noticed, he wasn’t normally funny. But she might be wrong about that; she never paid enough attention to the humans. “Um. Listen. Have you ever seen energon?”

“Too frequently,” he said, pausing his climb with his eyes just above the table’s surface to give her a hard look.

“No, I mean, not refined, not bleeding—“ Kim winced. Dr. Nomura wrinkled is nose slightly. They both glanced away. Kim tried again. “I mean the raw stuff. The rocks.” 

“I have not. The process of refinement is potentially toxic to humans.” He resumed his climb briskly, and Kim stepped over to follow him. “Whether or not that is an excuse to keep us out of it, it is true. So.” He stepped onto the floor. “Do you think it would be useful?” 

“Probably not, no.” She tried not to pause, but she was unused to lying and now that she had brought it up, she had to, “They’re nothing special. Just…rocks.”

*** 

When Maggie walked Fixit to the infirmary, the team was ready. The humans were wearing plasticy-papery scrubs over their clothes, to keep down both biological detritus and static electricity. They would be breaching the patient’s inner seals. 

Ratchet lifted Fixit onto one of the active pallets, which became narrower and taller and then closed around him to brace him in position. Maggie wrapped her arms around herself and shuddered. 

Kim’s phone vibrated. She took it out. Oh. “I have his telemetry,” she whispered to Maggie. “Let’s go to the DFAC and get some tea. We can keep an eye on things from there.”

Maggie hesitated for a moment. “Sure, Mate.” 

Kim slid an arm around her waist. “This isn’t the hard part,” she whispered. “It seems like it to us because we almost never replace body parts. They do it on a maintenance schedule. Later, getting used to the new processors, that will be harder.” 

Maggie gave Kim a dark look, shrugged off her hand, and set off for the tunnel to human country. Kim, nibbling her lower lip, followed. 

“You want to talk about it?” she asked as they sat down with plain white tea cups and generic teabags in water that was nearly hot enough. 

The DFAC was busier than yesterday. Three of the tables were full, and three guys—one of the pulse cannon teams?—were clustered around the new computer station in the corner.

“It’s Nothing. I wish we’d waited for Wheeljack to get back from orbit. Another ten days, at most.” 

“Fixit didn’t want to wait,” Kim observed neutrally. 

“Fixit wouldn’t—” She stopped. 

Kim waited. 

“The trainees are his friends. He wouldn’t say anything to them. And I do know they mean well. I know that. But they aren’t good enough to work on Prime. If the patient really mattered, Ratchet would have waited for a real engineer to assist.” 

Kim blinked, momentarily thrown. “What?”

“You have to know.” Maggie leaned forward. “They schedule Prime for maintenance after hours or on weekends. They don’t let the trainees practice on him.” 

“You think—that’s not why.” 

Maggie hardened slightly, but didn’t argue. 

Well, shit. How far could she let this go? How much could she say? Maggie was too smart to be diverted with anything but the truth. But she couldn’t say these things. “That’s not why.” 

“Sure. It’s not.” 

“It’s not. Ratchet lets the trainees work on himself.” 

Maggie gazed at her flatly. 

“He’s freaked out by humans. We’re gross and weak and slow.” Kim winced inwardly. This was not making her case. “But they know what they’re doing and he preps them carefully and last week they….”

Maggie was regarding her in frank disbelief. 

“Okay. Sergeant Epps and Lieutenant Darby work for the US Army. Dr. Nomura works for the Japanese.”

“They wouldn’t—” she shook her head. “They would never hurt him. Prime.” 

“No. Not that. Not that. But they have to write reports. You write reports. And there are—Um. Optimus has some specialized hardware that is none of Earth-government business.” That was true. Not the whole issue. But true. 

“What do you—Wait, the Matrix is hardware?” 

Kim opened her mouth. Shut it. “You know about the Matrix of Leadership?”

“Fixit calls it the Matrix of Wisdom. I thought… it was software. A program. Well. A database?” 

Kim shrugged. “I don’t know; I haven’t seen it. I don’t think. I’m pretty sure. I think it’s a thing, though.” 

“Oh.” 

The conversation was going places Kim normally tried to avoid. At least the DFAC wasn’t crowded. Two tables had cleared out and the gunner crew in the corner were singing into a microphone. It was private enough. And Maggie was well distracted from her freak out. Kim nodded to herself. Only three and half more hours until Fixit was out of surgery. “Who do you write your reports to?”

“Keller.” 

“What do you write your reports on?” 

“The Ground Bridge.” She frowned. “That’s my job. The Bridge. Your reports?”

Kim shrugged. “Go through Prime first.”

“But you haven’t seen this Matrix?” 

“No. But hardware isn’t my job. I wouldn’t know what I was looking at if I did see it…. Anyway. Optimus has been worked on by humans. He isn’t… weirded out about that like Ratchet.”

“Weirded out I can sympathize with. This planet….compared to where they come from, it has to be like living in an—I don’t know. Escher painting? Acid nightmare? When Fixit first arrived—for months he—I mean even I could tell he was scared of humans.” She reached out and turned Kim’s phone so she could see the telemetry. Kim had set it for spark resonance. “Is this elecropulse okay?” she asked. 

Kim nodded. “For an unconscious bot, that’s really good.” 

“Aren’t they usually… more higher frequency.” 

“His processors are off. That’s the unconscious part. The variance is less than two percent. It’s okay. Tell me more about the early days. Setting up the ground bridge. That took over a year, didn’t it?” 

“Well, the very early stages, I wasn’t there. I’m not hardware. It was when Fixit arrived and—well, he couldn’t do patrol or the heaviest lifting, so they set up a little classroom and had him teaching bridge math to – it was eight of us at first. Not everybody could handle it.” 

“So that’s how you met?” 

If there was one skill Kim had, she could get people to talk. She kept Maggie telling stories from the early days until the little graph on her phone started to fluctuate.

*** 

The trainees were out of their coveralls and cleaning up the infirmary when Kim and Maggie arrived. Optimus was seated on the side of the active pallet, a single thin cable connecting him to Fixit. At the yellow line, Maggie folded her arms. “He doesn’t look…happy,” she said worriedly. “Can we ask how it’s going?”

“He wouldn’t look happy,” Kim said. “It’s really intimate, what they’re doing. Serious. But he’s very good with memory and processing.”

Maggie glanced at Kim and then back to the motionless forms on the active pallet. “He’s a general. He does war.” 

“Well. Before that he was an archivist. He did data.” 

Silent. Motionless. Mecha didn’t breathe or fidget. They didn’t usually do much body language unless humans were around to watch.

Kim put an arm around Maggie’s shoulders. 

The trainees finished tidying up and headed for the yellow line. June stopped beside them and patted Maggie’s arm. “It went really well,” she said. “Really well. Just like the plan. Everything fit. Perfectly. Connectors connected. The test transmissions were clear. It isn’t…it isn’t like doing surgery on humans.” 

“Thanks,” Maggie whispered. 

Ratchet watched his trainees file out and then squatted beside Kim and Maggie. “Before he starts unzipping his peripheral software, we’re going to bring his processors on line for some testing. He would probably like you to be there, Ms. Madsen, but you need to understand that some of the files have been corrupted and will have to be reloaded from scratch. His Human interaction packet is one of those. He won’t be able to speak English. And he won’t understand you.” 

Maggie flinched slightly but nodded. “He’ll recognize me, though, right?”

Ratchet drew back indignantly. “Of course!”

“Memory is separate from processing,” Kim whispered. “Completely.” She added to Ratchet, “For us it’s not.” 

“What? Oh. I suppose I knew that. Terrible design….” He lowered a hand. Maggie seated herself on it. 

As Maggie was lifted away, Kim exhaled hard and closed her eyes. When she looked up again, Optimus was disconnecting his line from Fixit’s port. Maggie was seated beside him, close to the edge of the active pallet. 

Fixit sat up smoothly and turned his head to look around. Antennae—five or six of them, more than Kim had known he had—extended. “Maggie,” he said. And then he said a great deal more in rapid Cybertronix that Kim couldn’t follow. 

Kim took a couple of steps backwards and leaned against one of the supports holding up a worktable. 

Maggie reached out very slowly and patted Fixit on the shoulder. 

Fixit shivered and made a series of sounds Kim slowly recognized as one of the songs Jazz had played for her early in her language study. Or a very similar song, at least. Singing, definitely. 

Optimus interrupted him with an attention-requesting chirr-ep. Fixit broke off mid-trill and returned a short statement peppered with query and surprise tags. 

Optimus answered more sedately. The exchange was brief, Fixit’s quick and full of emphasis-sounds, Optimus’—and once or twice Ratchet’s—responses slower and softer. After a couple of minutes, Optimus shifted his attention to Maggie. “He has asked me to reassure you and thank you for your ongoing patience.” 

Maggie opened her mouth. Shut it. Fixit didn’t know English words right now. She nodded. She tried to smile. 

Kim hoped he could recognize alien facial expressions. Jesus. 

Ratchet asked some questions. Gave some instructions. Hummed over the monitor Fixit was still attached to. 

Fixit answered promptly. 

“We estimate it will take six point two hours for Fixit to install and integrate the complete…software package. If you do not wish to stay and wait—”

She shook her head. “I’ll stay.” 

Fixit was already lying down. He went still again, like a toy that was turned off. Kim gave Maggie a cheerful thumbs up. 

*** 

On his way to the yellow line, Optimus paused. “Do you have a few minutes?”

Kim nodded. 

He bent smoothly and offered a hand. Kim hopped on with the ease of long practice. “How did it go?” she asked softly. 

“Well. Very well. Fixit… since his injury his reduction in processing has been a…a…幾ร่ง린 зیब.”

Kim considered. “Disharmonious wave form,” she translated. 

“I might have said ‘asynchronous.’ But where have you encountered the term?”

“Slipstream uses it to describe that thing where Max is getting her belly petted and she suddenly tries to kick and bite him.” The sound a cat claw trying to scratch a metal servo was like a tiny cello playing. And also rare: Max got no satisfaction of biting something she couldn’t get her teeth into. “Mirage says it about Miko’s music. And Ratchet says it when the trainees are giving him, well, not a headache.”

“Ratchet has learned hyperbole from humans.”

Kim gave him a doubtful look. 

“Returning to your question, I am… hopeful that Fixit will quickly improve.” 

Kim nodded. Tomorrow she’d meet this – possibly new – person Fixit was. “I didn’t recognize the address tag you used for him. Has his status somehow changed?”

A frown, softly articulated by face plating not really designed for it. “I used the… religious forms. You would not have recognized it.”

Surprise and curiosity were probably flaring her field. Was Fixit particularly religious? Was having a processor set up somehow…symbolic? Was this not just a medical procedure? “Ah. I… noticed you tend to avoid the religious side of things.” 

“I avoid religious interactions with humans,” he said gently. “I do not avoid my sacred obligations in general.”

But you are very cagy about just what they are, Kim thought, breathing slowly and rolling her shoulders. She had developed a tendency to tense up for religious conversations. Was this going to be a religious conversation? Dang--

It wasn’t. Optimus’ steps slowed. “It was while doing his duty that Fixit was injured. He could have abandoned the effort to stabilize the ground bridge and disengaged from the system.”

Right. Yes. That was awful. And despite his sacrifice, Fixit had failed and the bridge had collapsed and the energy wave had blown every sensor Optimus had had pointed at the open portal. The had been stranded. Optimus had been in pain as well as isolated and frightened. Kim cleared her throat. “We’re lucky repairs were possible,” she said weakly. 

Optimus paused, looking down at Kim for the three seconds it took her to remember that he didn’t calculate the favorability of chance. Kim pressed her lips together and winced an apology. 

“Fixit is reassured by the reminder that the allocation of resources does not rest on a powerful individual’s whim or affection, but upon the principles of justice and duty. I am responsible for his wellbeing until – unless—he says otherwise, and I honor that responsibility.”

He had paused in the curve of the tunnel. Neither the medical bay nor the ground bridge station could be seen from this point. They were alone. “Well. Shit,” Kim said. 

“Quite.” 

“The last Prime before you must have been….” 

“Yes. But even if I had quite decided what I should say to you about Sentinel Prime, I do not have time now. Which brings me to the purpose of this conversation; I am scheduled to leave in ten minutes for Shenyang. I will have to cancel today’s interview.” 

“It’s fine. Shenyang sounds important—wait, is that China?”

“Yes.” 

“But—is that safe?” 

“I am not going into combat. It is a meeting.” 

“But.” Kim fumbled. China wasn’t a democracy. They disappeared people. And the government owned a lot of the industry and was known for stealing technology. “It’s not a completely safe country,” she said lamely. How could she explain to an alien?

“China is a signatory to the treaty. They will not see me as an invading enemy.” 

“You’re taking Bulkhead, right?” 

“He is currently busy. But Springer and Arcee will accompany me.”

She sighed. 

“I will be safe, Kim.” 

“You will be safe,” she agreed, patting the broad curve of his servo.

*** 

At the bridge controls they parted, and Kim headed back into ‘Bot country. The infirmary was still quiet; Maggie was sitting on the active pallet beside Fixit, reading, and Ratchet had transformed and was parked in the corner. Kim kept going. 

The main assembly room was empty except for Drift, linked into the satellite monitoring station. His optics were dark, which meant he was paying almost all of his attention to whatever data he was chasing. Kim was mildly relieved. Kim and Drift hadn’t gotten off to the best start, but he was busy now, too busy to disturb. She didn’t have to talk to him….

She continued on, not noticing Carly on the steps until she turned the corner. Oh. “Hey, hi,” she said. 

Carly was seated on the bottom step, slouched backwards and resting her elbows on a step above. “Hey,” she said listlessly. 

“I thought you went home,” Kim said. 

“Well… I’m off duty. I was going to hang out with Ironhide, but….” A shrug. 

Kim dropped down on the step beside her. “Ironhide just left for Argentina yesterday afternoon.” The standard ‘Bot patrol was seventy-one hours, and some lasted as long as 2 weeks. 

Carly sat up and folded her arms. “He’s on light duty,” she said softly. 

Kim hadn’t heard. “The knee joint?” Patrols were conducted in alt; surely driving around as a truck put less pressure on it than walking on it in root form. 

“No. His internal repair system. The nanite population is down almost ten percent. That is what is in the fabricator right now—a batch of new….” She shook her head. “It will be ready in six days. And hopefully—I mean, he’s going to be fine.” 

“Ten percent?” Kim asked. That was not what she had heard. 

“Almost.” 

Was Carly wrong? Had Optimus been wrong? Had he lied? Or had the nanite collapse just gotten worse that quickly? 

Damn. 

Kim swallowed dryly. “So you’re waiting for Ironhide to get back.” 

Carly looked up at the ceiling. “Oooooh,” she drawled. “He’s already back. He just has to finish arguing with Bobby.” She pointed toward the archway that led to the bot rec area. 

“Wait. Why is Bobby—you mean Epps, right? Our Bobby? Why are he and Ironhide--” 

Carly snatched a glance at Kim’s face, then turned her attention back to the distant ceiling. “Well. Today during Fixit’s procedure, Bobby noticed that Fixit wasn’t designed to be repaired. Or to last. I mean, we all knew it was touchy, that wasn’t a secret. But apparently Bobby thought Fixit was a lemon or something. And today he realized he was made that way on purpose.” 

“Oh,” Kim breathed. 

“He’s pretty pissed off. And then Ironhide passed by, and Bobby’s all ‘what the hell?’ You know.” 

“Shit.” 

“There’s no point in yelling at ‘Hide for something that happened four thousand years ago.”

“I don’t think Fixit is quite that old,” Kim admitted. 

“He spent a chunk of time in stasis. So he’s about a thousand years younger than his age. But that is the thing: a life time for them is so much longer than anything we can imagine. If I had to live with everything I did that was wrong a thousand years from now…. But anyway, Ironhide was never involved in reproduction. He never designed mecha. He never built shells for mecha. He never got a vote in population decisions. I think Bobby is being a shit.” 

“Which is why Ironhide sent you out to wait until they were done?” Kim guessed. 

“Got it in one. Really, I kind of want to throw a wrench at Bobby, he’s being so thick.” 

“You’re picking up bad habits from Ratchet. Wrenches don’t bounce off humans. And Bobby… I get why he’s mad. It’s a lot easier to go into combat with someone when you believe they’re the good guys.” 

“They are the good guys! Kim the Decepticons want to exterminate us like vermin and strip-mine the planet for energon!”

“Can you imagine what Ironhide thought of us when he found out about Hiroshima, Colonialism, Jim Crow, Nanking, or what the Mayans did to war captives?” Kim had had a couple of months to curate this list in her head. Some of them Optimus had asked her about. 

Carly opened her mouth. Shut it. “What did the Mayans do to war captives?” She asked in a small voice. 

Right. Engineering major. Kim rolled her eyes inwardly. “They sacrificed them to the sun god and ate them.”

“Oh. Who was Nanking?” 

“Where, not who. Mass rape and torture and slaughter of civilians.”

“Oh.” 

“So the deep dark secret is that they probably aren’t better than us. And I know some of the NEST guys feel like they are. It’s kind of black and white to them: the great, wise aliens hero-warriors. But really, we’re a lot alike. And both species are pretty shitty.” 

“You’re going to say we can’t judge them.”

Kim scowled. “Why am I going to say that?”

“I looked anthropology up on the internet.”

“Oh. That.” Kim waved a hand. “Cultural relativism is for data collection. When you understand a society’s values and the way its institutions work,” she paused. “Or don’t work. When you understand, you can totally judge.” 

“So you can—”

“Me? Hell no. Not by a long shot. I barely understand any of the language even. But yeah, someday, when we are done hunting down Megatron and hopefully not dead and have a chance to take a good hard look at each other, we’re going to have to decide….Carly, we don’t know what kind of people they are when they aren’t at war. And they’ve hardly met any of us that are civilians. And maybe we’re not going to like each other very much when we do. But maybe that won’t matter—I mean you don’t have to love your allies, you just have to work well with them, and we can do that. But maybe when it’s all over we won’t be friends.” 

Carly snorted. “Yeah, right. You know more about them than anyone else and you absolutely love them.” 

Kim opened her mouth to protest that in some ways Epps and Lennox and—certainly Mearing—knew more, but realized that wouldn’t disprove the point. She leaned forward to lean her elbows on her knees. “Right now we have to win the war and keep our planet.”

“I wish Bobby would keep that in mind.” 

Kim sighed. Had she been disappointed when she found about Cybertron’s pre-war caste system? Bobby was disappointed. Had Kim even been surprised? Humans were such shits sometimes…..

Kim’s phone began buzzing and chiming. One of the sounds she recognized as a change to schedule. Puzzled—the only thing left on the schedule for today was her evening meeting with Optimus, and he had cancelled that already—she looked at the screen. 

Well. 

The upshot of three texts, and email, and a new activity on her calendar was that she needed to be in the FBI conference room in less than forty minutes. 

There was time to grab a sandwich and fruit at the DFAC—which she did, because a meeting with Fowler wasn’t something she wanted to face on an empty stomach. 

It wasn’t just Fowler. Kim recognized Carson, the geologist, and Lapointe, the Coordinator for Western Retrievals and Incursion Response. She was introduced to Garza and Soto, two corporals from communications, and Smith, who had a very long and obscure title and seemed to Kim to be a spy. Everyone in the room but Kim was a man. She pretended not to notice. 

“Last week,” Fowler said, “Strongarm picked up an energon reading in Mexico City. She couldn’t pinpoint the location, so we sent in a ground team on foot to triangulate.”

Carson looked up. “Last week? It doesn’t usually take a week.” 

Fowler chuckled. “You’re gonna love this one.” He began to pass out packets of paper. “The energon is in a warehouse for a natural history museum attached to Mexico Polytechnic University.” 

Soto—short guy, long face—laughed. “Seriously? This is a museum heist?” 

“Wait,” Garza said. “Why do you need us? Museums close at night: you can just bridge an extraction team in, set off a little EMP to kill the security and walk out with the energon.” He turned to Kim. “We’re usually the ‘explanation guys’ if we have to extract energon near a population area down south. I make a great fake bureaucrat.” 

“There is no room in the building to open a bridge. We’re going to have to walk in and walk it out,” Fowler said. 

“I’m sure you have a plan,” Smith muttered. 

Fowler and Lapointe looked at each other. “We have a fantastic plan,” Fowler said. “Do you remember a couple months back when the national park museum out west discovered a plastic bucket full of uranium had been sitting beside an exhibit for years?” He grinned. “Well the Atomic Energy Commission is coordinating with museums in the United States and Mexico to make sure there isn’t any more uranium sitting around.”

“Are they?” Garza asked. 

Fowler shrugged. “Maybe. I should probably check. But that isn’t the point. The Community Safety Joint Task Force has an appointment to do a courtesy inspection of the Polytechnic University’s museum tomorrow morning. Geiger counters. A couple of guys in radiation suits. The whole nine yards.” 

A packet had slid to place in front of her. Kim blinked down at it. 

“The hard part,” Fowler continued, “Or the fun part, depending on how you look at, is that we don’t know where in the warehouse it is, and unless there is a whole lot of it, it’s going to be hard to get a fix with our portable scanners. This could literally take all day.” 

Kim opened her folder. It had ID cards and badges with her face but another name on it. There was a short bio. “Wait,” she said. “Why am I here?”

It was Lapointe who answered: “You have museum experience and you speak Spanish.” 

Museum experience. Kim went cold with horror. “It was a two-month internship. I was an undergraduate. You can’t think I know anything about museums.” 

Fowler smirked. “And that is exactly two months more than anyone else on base. Congratulations. You are now the expert.” 

“And this bio won’t work.” She held up the ID badge. “Dora Martinez from Texas! My Spanish accent is Puerto Rican! I can’t fake Texas.”

Lapointe made a note on his pad. “Thank you. We’ll have that fixed by tomorrow morning. Garza, you’ll be the front man: suit, little mustache, the whole deal. We’ll have a stack of forms for you to get signed.” 

Soto and Carson would be in radiation coveralls. Everyone got a yellow box with a wand attached. At first glance it looked like the Geiger counters in the movies. When Kim lifted one, though, it was impossibly light, and the screen was high definition and displayed in three languages: Autobot technology. 

“What happens if there actually is a radioactive rock in the collection?” 

Fowler frowned. “This isn’t our first hazmat rodeo. Anything over ten microsieverts and we take it into custody. Assuming they don’t already have it sequestered. If it is radioactive, you’ll see a sad emoji in the upper left corner—but don’t act any different. Just call for Carson and Soto to bring a container.”

A sad emoji. Which of the mecha had set that up? Jeez. 

“Now remember, if anybody asks you questions, push it up to Garza. But be friendly, not too serious. Get advice on where to go for lunch, that sort of thing,” Smith said. “This is NOT like the ‘Toxic waste spill” in Belize. We aren’t an emergency response team.” 

“’Toxic waste spill,’” Kim whispered. 

Smith shook his head. “Decepticon incursion. Now, Dr. Montgomery, what is a museum warehouse like? I’m picturing the end of Indiana Jones.” 

“Oh. Um, no. Unless the museum is really new or really rich…picture tall metal shelves with really narrow aisles. Hm. If they’ve got an energon sample, it’s probably in brown paper bags or an old cardboard box without a lid. It will probably be labeled though. We’ll be able to find out where it came from. Oh. Right. Don’t make a mess. Don’t touch anything you don’t have to.” Inwardly, Kim was wincing. Her vast museum experience was a sample of one. 

“Is there anything else there likely to be dangerous?” Fowler asked. “Will there be anything explosive or biohazard?” 

What did he think went on in museums? “Well…no. It’s just old stuff. Since it’s a natural history museum…I assume fossils and rock samples. Some of them may be big enough to hurt you if they fall on you.” Slowly, Kim groped her way through memories she hadn’t taken out in years. “But museum people are really careful and precise. Everything may be in a jumble, but it will be a well-thought-out and curated jumble.”

The meeting lasted until after eight that night, and Kim’s building adrenalin warred with her exhaustion as she plodded her way back to Bot country. The night shift at the ground bridge station waved distractedly as she passed. Ratchet, fussing over the fabricator, didn’t look up—although there was no way his sensors had missed her approach. There was no motion at all on Fixit’s pallet. 

The assembly area was empty, too. Although the mech population had grown by a third since Kim’s arrival in June, with the increase in both energon appearance and Decepticon activity, patrols were much more frequent. More informants, but I see less of them….

*** 

The Community Safety Joint Task Force had an appointment at the natural history museum at 8:00 am Mexico City time, so Kim’s alarm clock went off at four-thirty. She mostly slept through the stumble down the Cold War hallway to the bathroom, and when she arrived her brain staggered awake through a haze of surprise. “Carly? What are you doing here this early?” Her voice squeaked clumsily on the words. She’d lived in dorms and shared apartments for years, but she’d recently gotten used to not having humans in her space. 

Carly finished rinsing her face and dried it on the tail of her tee shirt. “Not early,” she sighed. “Late. I spent last night in Ironhide’s cab.” 

“Oh.”

“There was nobody else in the garage, and he really hates shutting down alone.”

Kim shuffled to the sink that had her tooth brush and toothpaste. “Oh. Yeah.” The human commitment to private sleeping areas was one of their most puzzling predilections. “That’s not a particular thing with them,” Kim mumbled, trying to find her way though thick, tangled thoughts. “And he’s been living in barracks and tiny space ships for…forever.” How long ago had Megatron started bombing cities from space? 

Carly turned around, leaned back against her sink, and folded her arms. “It’s not just that,” she said softly. “He’s lost a lot of sensory bandwidth. It’s most pronounced in alt. He’s admitted…he doesn’t trust his proximity alarms. He might not know if something is…wrong. If somebody else is there….” She looked down at the ancient floor tiles. 

“That makes sense,” Kim said. She was awake now.

Carly continued, soft and urgent: “And he hasn’t said, but he doesn’t feel well. It’s not tired, they don’t feel it physically the way we do. But he’s—he’s so tired.” She wiped her face on her shirt again. “And. He hasn’t said, but he’s scared.”

Kim took a deep breath. “Well. Everybody’s scared,” she said. “That has to be normal. The Decepticons—”

Carly shook her head. “Not that. He isn’t afraid of what Megatron’s doing. It’s…. He was always competent. You know? His whole life. Fantastic at whatever he did. And he was really well-made. I mean, yeah, it’s an old design, but elegant and efficient. And his retrofitting as a war machine—whoever designed that, I don’t think it was Ratchet, but it was a genius. And now he’s got gaps in his perception and he isn’t integrating repairs right and he’s shutting down every day for maintenance cycles. Like—like sleeping--as much as a human. And he’s… scared.” 

Kim closed her eyes. Masters degree in engineering, yes, but Carly was nineteen. And all that excellent education had not included any of the training medical personnel got for coping with the suffering of others. “Five more days, right?” Kim said softly. “And the fabricator will spit out the new nanites, boom, functioning internal repair system.” 

“If it works,” Carly whispered, tearing up. 

Kim stepped closer, patted her shoulder. Carly didn’t tense, so Kim put an arm around her. “It’ll work. Optimus and Ratchet were too honestly relieved to see it. Even if this first batch doesn’t take, Ratchet will figure it out.”

Carly dropped her forehead onto Kim’s shoulder. Dang. Anthropology hadn’t prepared Kim for this much crying. Being a TA, yes, there had been some crying there. People Carly’s age, in fact. Mostly they cried about realizing their whole plans for their lives weren’t going to work out for whatever reason—mostly their grades not being high enough for medical school, but a couple of grandparent deaths, a rough coming-out, and a senior who had wanted to be a writer all his life but was coming to face the fact that he hated literature classes—and those normal and health growing-pains had not prepared Kim for comforting people heartbroken by the fears and losses of war. 

Well, at least this time it was a human crying. Her disciplinary training hadn’t included preparation, but this would surely be easier than when the mecha wept, because that was just, ugh. 

“You know what’s really awful?” Carly whispered. 

Oh. Of course there’s worse. Kim tried not to think of all the things she already knew that were really awful. “What?”

“If we had the equipment and the parts at this point, we’d just build him a new frame.” She sniffed. “Maybe pop his protomatter into a vat of energon for a couple of months to recover a little. And then—all done. Good as new. But…” she pulled away and rubbed her eyes. “That was on Cybertron. A long time ago.” 

“So… we’re doing it the hard way, and it’s pretty awful,” Kim agreed. “But we are going to do it. We just have to hang in there.” Kim took a deep breath. “Five days.” Ironhide will be fine. Assuming the war doesn’t kill him. But we might be dead by then, too, so. 

Carly sagged against the ancient sink. 

Kim started to sag, too, then froze. “Okay, no. We can’t do this. If we freak out and get all hopeless—they know. He’ll know.” 

“I don’t talk like this to Ironhide—”

“He’ll see it your electromagnetic field.” 

Carly shook her head. “Our fields are too small. The fluctuations don’t mean anything—"

“They’re small. But the ‘Bots pay attention. They have really good sensors for that. It’s what—it’s really important to them. It’s what they pay attention to. I promise, Ironhide is not giving up resolution on that scanner. And yeah, there are patterns even in humans, and they are learning to read them. If you are hopeless and grieving, Ironhide will know.”

“Oh.” 

“He doesn’t need that from you. But you can’t—you can’t fake being patient and hopeful. You have to mean it. You have to believe that he is going to be okay.”

Carly frowned. Slowly, she said, “Does that mean they can’t lie to each other?” 

“No. They have a lot more control over their fields. It’s an unfair advantage. They can read us. We can’t even perceive them.” 

Carly took a deep breath. “Okay. Five days. I can keep it together for five days. Stay positive.” 

“He is fourteen thousand years old,” Kim whispered. “He has perspective. He is very strong. He can do this.”

“He doesn’t want to be alone.” 

“Okay. You can help with that. You can be absolutely useful here. But calm the fuck down.”

She nodded shakily. “Calm the fuck down.” 

*****

Carly’s break-down consumed the time Kim had been planning to use to run to the DFAC for a more substantial breakfast. She arrived at the ground bridge dressed professionally and munching on her second granola bar at 5:15: on time, so, a win. 

General Morshower was in serious conversation with a large white SUV parked directly in front of the bridge. A white panel van was parked a respectful distance behind. Regular cars—human built transportation—could not be piloted through a bridge. Or, at least, a human could not do the piloting. But if the van was a ‘Bot, Kim could not imagine who it could be. 

She walked up to the driver’s side door and murmured, “Are you a person? Or am I about to look really silly?”

“Do you really not recognize me?”

“Hound! Seriously?” Her double take at the van was involuntary. “That can’t be you!”

A chuckle, warm and human-sounding. “In fact, not all of it is me. I do not have the mass for the required vehicle. The cargo compartment is actually from a GMC Savana Cargo Van.”

“Wow.” Kim laid a hand on the door, and the window slid down smoothly. Kim thought it was a friendly gesture. “So you’ve….attached part of a…wow. Is that comfortable?”

Another laugh. “Not in the least. I am trying to be a good sport about it.” 

“It looks really good. I can’t tell where the seam is.” She squinted down his length. There was no hint that he was an alien in disguise. 

“Would it be appropriate for me to say ‘flattery will get you everywhere?’” he asked. 

“Would it be deflating if I pointed out that government cars don’t usually have such a glossy, perfect finish?” 

“Now you are making me blush,” he said teasingly; but a wave of less-gleaming washed over him and a scratch appeared in the door next to Kim’s hand. 

“That’s amazing,” Kim said. “Does everyone have such perfect control with their paint job?” 

“I may be a bit better than average,” he conceded. 

“I’m very impressed,” Kim said. 

“Hmm. That may have been one flattery too far,” he said. 

“It becomes less convincing at three?” Kim straightened slightly, preparing to remember something to write into notes later since she had no field bag with her now.

“I believe you mean it. I just feel as though you are about to offer me a challenging position at a compensation level somewhat below my usual return.”

“Wait, it feels like I’m trying to offer you a job?”

“One I would not choose on its own merits, yes. However, I have already accepted this assignment.”

“Wait, wait. This is the military—”

“Springer asked for volunteers.”

“Oh. But. What about before—I thought you weren’t capitalists. How do you hire people for jobs?”

“Ah. We were not communists either, Kim. Our planned economy did not function the way you are probably envisioning. And for specialized and skilled labor there was considerable…. Flexibility. Hm. Perhaps I am not the best person to ask about this; my previous profession was liturgical in nature. I worked for the state. Ironhide and Mirage probably have the most first-hand experience with economic flexibility.” 

“And Fixit the least?” 

He was silent for a long moment. “Yes.” 

Now was probably not the time to ask about that. “Who is that in front of us?”

“Chromia.” 

Kim gaped. “Really? Has she got a—an Earth vehicle prosthetic on, too?”

“No.”

“But—she’s not that big!”

“Her usual alt form does not require all her mass. Normally she subspaces three-hundred and nine kilograms of mesh plating. You cannot tell by looking at her root form?”

“No!” 

“Even without electromagnetic and sonar scanning, it is obvious.” 

“Maybe I don’t know what to look for,” Kim said uncertainly. “I can see, but I don’t notice.” 

“I … suppose it is not important. You will never have to perform a transcan yourself, after all….”

“But it is alien that I don’t think that way.” 

“Unexpected. Please to not be offended.”

“No, it’s okay. Hey, open up and let me in?”

“Soto and Carson ride with me. You will be with the apparent bigwigs in Chromia.” 

~TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, about 300 readers for chapter 1, and about 20% left kudos. Thank you all so much. That is really encouraging. I appreciate every one.


	3. Odds

No one looked at Kim’s fancy federal-produced fake ID. 

On the whole, as a first foray into international (interstellar?) espionage and museum heist-ing, it wasn’t very dramatic. The actual museum—which they checked out first to maintain their cover—actually had a pottery bowl and a nicely carved metlatl set off the Geiger counter part of the detector, but after several re-checks and a hasty consultation with someone off site, Carson declared they were only a minor radon hazard, and could remain on display if they were well ventilated. 

The natural history museum itself had been well maintained and was charmingly baroque (if also small and old). The warehouse, housed three blocks away in a former private high school the university had absorbed in the 1970s, more interesting. 

The classrooms walls had been left in place, so Kim’s assumption of large open spaces was pretty much the opposite of the close maze that presented. Three floors and a basement of rooms with doors in strange places and shelving everywhere. The rooms had labels and were carefully organized. Geological samples were in the basement. While it was surely a pain to take rocks up and down the stairs, Kim could imagine the benefit of not putting all that weight on the creaky floors above. 

The museum actually had a radium sample—in the basement in a concrete safe. They were relieved to get confirmation that it wasn’t leaking. 

They worked in teams of two, slowly wanding crates and cardboard boxes. The basement ceiling was low. The lighting was bare-bulb, but bright. One of the rooms was definitely damp. There was a room full of metal file cabinets filled with rocks. Each drawer had to be opened. Another room had old library card catalogs—wooden, so the drawers didn’t need to be opened. Two rooms full of metal barrels packed of fossils wrapped in bubble wrap. Soto and Carson had that—Kim wasn’t envious. 

Smith found a five-centimeter sphere that set off the Geiger counter in a shoebox at the back of a shelf. Carson—sweating in his rubber overalls—got all excited and popped it into a transport box. “Wow, totally uranium!” Kim couldn’t tell if he was acting or really into it. 

But the detectors found no energon in the basement. And then they found none in the rock collections and offices on the ground floor. 

They ate lunch outside, on benches at the edge of the grassy quad next to where Chromia and Hound were parked. Everyone had an extra phone out on their knee so that no one passing would wonder where the occasional extra voice came from. The conversation was nonclassified: Nascar, road conditions on I80 and Mexico’s 136, how monarch butterflies migrated, the upcoming year’s GMC truck line.

The second floor was pottery, textiles, stone tools (a couple made the Geiger counter tick a little, but not enough to warrant removal), animal skeletons, jars of dead animals floating in liquid, and rows of taxidermized animals wrapped in plastic. Kim tried not to get distracted trying to parse the labels. Her job was to wave the stick and look seriously at the readout…

The third floor was maps, pressed leaves and seeds and photographs of plants, photographs of other things, mounted insects, more textiles, and a striped hatbox full of energon chunks. 

The label taped to the hatbox said “Weird mineral sample, Monte Tlaloc, 1992” in sloppy script rather than the usual, neat block lettering. It didn’t even have an intake number. 

Kim stepped out of the creaky, mathballed attic room into the creaky, dusty hall while Carson boxed the sample up. She felt an almost hysterical urge to laugh. Weird? Ten pounds of alien magic energy rocks and no one could even be bothered to finish the paperwork on it or leave it on the correct floor. It was almost like humans, having seen it, somehow couldn’t be interested in it. Even Carson—and he was the goddamn geologist, it was his actual job—didn’t seem to care about it very much, accepted sloppy and incomplete explanations of it, and had never (and Kim had asked casually) tried to find out why regular energon and dark energon formed differently. 

***

Four thousand, two hundred, and seventy-two grams of energon. It was about four and a half pounds—not an impressive haul, even by pre-nemesis-energon-stimulation standards, but Chromia and Hound were in a great mood for the trip home. From the glyph traffic it looked like they were telling math jokes. 

Fixit and Maggie were at the bridge controls when the retrieval team arrived. Kim hurriedly handed over her fake ID and ran—limped, she’d been in professional shoes all day—to the console. “Hey! You’re back at work!” 

“Yes. At work. There is a great deal of work. Windblade does not run the diagnostics correctly.” 

Kim’s brows went up. Maggie, still looking at her own screens, tapped Fixit with her knuckle. 

His optics reset. “My pardon. I should not criticize my superiors.” 

“Try again, Possum,” Maggie prompted. 

Fixit considered. “Oh. My apologies. Work is important. Interpersonal relationships are also important. Without timely and appropriate interaction, disinterest or antipathy may be concluded. Hello, Kim. Welcome home.” 

Kim swallowed. Right. Okay. She leaned against the console and said casually, “So. Still integrating the English communications files?”

Maggie sighed. “Still re-analyzing the mech communications files. He hasn’t started on the human ones. He really shouldn’t be at work so soon—”

“My work is important. Peripheral skills can wait.” 

This was weird. It was like talking to a robot. It was—it was ‘uncanny valley,’ like movies with bad CGI.

Fixit’s persona had changed before. This was—this wasn’t anything. He was still Fixit underneath. “You’re right,” Kim said brightly. “There’s plenty of time. Your—your friends love you, and we’ll wait.” 

His vocalizer staticked and re-set. “Humans do touching,” he said in a quiet, metallic voice. “I cannot do touching. My human safety protocols are not adequately integrated with the actuation system.” 

“That’s okay. If you hold still, I will do touching.” 

He went very still. Kim reached over the console and laid a hand on his metal ‘shoulder.’ He wasn’t a combat mech; his armor was minimal, and a lot of his cabling and actuators were visible. She patted the cool, hard carapace, keeping her fingers clear of the wide seams. “Stay strong. You’re doing great.” 

Fixit clicked and chirruped—words in Cybertronix, but not ones Kim knew. 

Maggie bit her lip. “He’s a little emotional right now.” 

“My emotions have not changed. The amount of bandwidth I can devote to emotional analytics has.” 

Kim managed a smile, wondered if he would understand it. “You’re going to be fine.” 

She was an hour into her fieldnotes before she realized they were all accounts of Fixit’s repairs and speculation on mind and personhood. Not a word about the museum heist or energon. 

It was almost….

No. Seriously. What did she think was happening? 

Slowly, she picked up a pen and wrote energon on her wrist.

*** 

Dinner was microwave tortellini and—because she hadn’t bought vegetables lately—a fiber shake and a vitamin. The food in Boston had been so much better. Really, that was the only fault with this field site: no Indian food, no Thai food, no Ethiopian food, no little brunch place with the lox, no Italian, no food truck with the shaved ice so fine it was like satin, and no sandwiches on crusty bread with feta and paper thin slices of red onion….

But. Her field site had giant alien robots: Kim hardly ever thought about edible sandwiches. 

Optimus was in alt on the mesa. It was hot—August in Nevada. Optimus opened a door as she approached. His cab had the air conditioning blasting. Kim grinned. “How was China?”

“They held the meeting in an outdoor pavilion with a marble mosaic floor. If I had stepped on it, it would have broken. The garden that surrounded it had over sixty different kinds of flowering vegetation and nine species of butterflies, three of which were non-native to the area. I think they were trying to impress me.” 

“Huh. Did it work?”

“I…respect the effort. However, I find I am much more comfortable in more utilitarian—and less fragile—spaces.” 

“Yeah. I can see that.” 

“We have come to an agreement with regard to solar technology. Also, they will be adding nine new individuals to NEST personnel. I am satisfied.” He paused. “Kim, I was not consulted about your deployment in the field today. If you object to this use of your time, I will remove your name from the assignment roster.” 

“It was just a day. I can’t imagine they need someone with museum experience very often. It wasn’t a big deal.” Her eye caught on the word written on her wrist. “Can I ask you something strange?” 

“That is the purpose of our interviews.” 

“It’s really weird, the way humans can’t understand energon, no matter how it’s explained.”

“That is not a question, Kim.” 

“Yeah. Right. And I get that out math isn’t up to it and our physics doesn’t have the right concepts, okay fine. But. You’d think that would make us really curious about it, really interested. But the funny thing is, once we’ve seen it…we barely notice it.”

“I see.” 

“Competent museum, huge geological collection, and they have a rock there is no classification for, looks pretty, maybe unique, and they lost it in the attic. Just left it in an old hat box, didn’t even fill out an inventory form for it.”

“What are you asking?” 

She felt foolish saying it out loud, but the only alternative was worse. “Is the energon doing something? Hiding itself? Somehow?”

“Jetstorm did not lie to you. Energon is not sentient. It has no intentionality.”

Kim blinked. “Wait, is every conversation I have with a ‘Bot reported to you?”

He shifted slightly. “You have asked me to respect the privacy of your informants. The content of their own experience and reflections are not reported. But all discussions of energon are forwarded to me.”

“Oh. I understand. Thank you. I know that’s not how you usually do things.”

“Kim?” he said gently, “You have drifted off the topic of our conversation.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. What were we talking about?”

His voice was so soft: “Why humans have difficulty focusing on the topic of energon after encountering the raw ore.”

Kim gasped. “Shit.”

“How do you feel?”

“Embarrassed. It just….It’s not defending itself. That leaves….” Oh, hell.

“Yes?”

It was a crazy idea. Absurd. “Did the Autobots do something to us? So that we would leave energon alone?” 

“We did not.” He sighed, shifted restlessly on his tires. “Even if it occurred to us to take such extreme measures to defend this resource, even if we were willing to interfere with the free will of your species—which I am not-- we do not understand your cognition well enough to so precisely and subtly alter your thinking. My species is capable of many ruthless acts. I cannot tell you we would not, ever, do something so loathsome. I hope we would not. I know we did not.”

“Okay. Not you guys. But…the Deceptions?” 

“Your species is an inconvenience to them. They would not expend time or resources being subtle.”

“Oh. So.” Kim swallowed. “Good to know, I guess. So…it is just too alien to grasp. No big deal.” 

Except for the shhh of the air conditioning, Optimus was silent for nearly a minute. “It may be a big deal,” he said softly, “You are not the first to notice how much interest diminishes once energon in its natural state is encountered. Energon is an anomaly. I would expect that would make you even more curious. And yet.”

Kim shivered. The cab seemed very cold. 

“There are other anomalies, about which I am curious. As you point out, your technology is inadequate to even describe energon’s nature or processes. The ideas you would need are conspicuously absent.”

“Conspicuously?” 

“From an otherwise accurate and useful body of knowledge. Extrapolating future development indicates your people would have independently developed interstellar travel in less than three hundred years. And yet, you do not even have a word for ๆ4* 自.My studies of the history of human science do not illuminate how certain particular facts were overlooked. It is puzzling.” 

Kim thought about that. “Is it suspicious?”

“It is.”

“Should I be worried?”

“About a great many things,” he said with a sigh. “About this…I am worried.” 

“Okay…?”

“Kim. You must understand, the evidence is minimal and ambiguous. Even the hypothesis ranked most highly is only assigned a likelihood of thirty-seven percent.” 

“Can I ask what that is?”

“You will not like it.” 

Kim straightened. “You’re not refusing.” 

“With the arrival of the Nemesis and its seeding of the Earth’s electromagnetic spectrum, it has become clear that under rare but extant circumstances energon production can be stimulated. Even before the arrival of the Nemesis—or, for that matter, the Cube—the Earth produced a surprising amount of energon.”

“There was hardly any!”

“There was some. The current leading proposal is that at some point in Earth’s past energon was similarly seeded by an unknown party. And that party also altered Earth’s species such that they would take no notice of it.”

“Oh, that’s not scary at all. Oh. Sarcasm.” 

“I could tell.”

“What if they come back for it?”

“Who is to say they did not, and your species did not notice?”

Kim opened her mouth, shut it.

“The alterations to your cognition must have occurred before 1612 C.E. But they may have been made centuries or even millennia before that.” 

“Oh. So, maybe there’s nothing to worry about.” 

“Maybe.”

“Do I write this down?”

“I think you must. Or you will forget.”

“Wow.”

“Indeed. Hm. Ratchet is in the elevator. It appears he has something to discuss.” A sigh. 

“Should I bail and leave you two alone?”

“I do not know. Speaking to me while you are present may be a tactical choice on his part.” 

“Oh, that’s going to be fun. Or—hell—it’s the cat again?” Kim realized she was hiding behind her hands and folded them in her lap. 

“There have been no complaints about Max. Indeed, she has not left her habitat since returning from the veterinarian.” 

Kim squirmed to look for the elevator in Optimus’ mirrors. The doors were opening. Kim wiped a sweaty palm on her knee. 

Ratchet exited and approached in alt and paused facing Optimus from the left. 

“Good evening, Doctor,” Optimus said pleasantly. “It is a lovely evening to enjoy the quiet and open air.” 

“Optimus. I was wondering if I might have a word.”

“If it is urgent, I can terminate this interview.” 

Kim felt suddenly exposed. She was supposed to be in the middle of things. That was why you lived in the village instead of setting up a tent on the hill and inviting informants in for interviews. But it wasn’t fair, that everything her informants—her friends—did was watched and recorded and analyzed. She opened her mouth to offer to leave, but Ratchet was already speaking.

“As much as I want to insist it is none of their” (the explicative was either contemptuous emphasis or absolute encompassing) “business,” he sighed. “The fact is, this is their planet and it will concern them eventually. We might as well make use of your cultural advisor.” 

“As you wish,” Optimus said patiently. 

Ratchet transformed into root and seated himself among the boulders a couple of yards from Optimus’s front bumper. “It concerns logistics calculations.” It should have been a bland, abstract statement, but Kim could hear layers of emotion under the words. “As of today, we have enough energon in reserve to last three years, even if no more is obtained and our population doubles. That is the threshold for ending rationing and shifting weapons to primary power.”

“My assessment concurs.”

“Optimus, this substantially changes our circumstances.” He leaned slightly forward, voice shivering slightly with emotion.

“Indeed it does. It seems a celebration is called for.”

Ratchet clicked in annoyance, leaned back, sighed. “That. Yes. I suppose you will want to invite the humans.” 

“Of course,” he sounded distinctly smug. “They do not share in our need, but they can empathize with our joy at this deliverance. They will want to celebrate with us. And it would be unspeakably rude to exclude them.”

“Fine. Whatever. That isn’t actually--” 

Optimus continued, “I shall detail Mirage and Kim to event planning. I have every expectation the activity will be satisfactory.” 

“Thanks!” Kim whispered sourly. 

“Yes. Fine. In fact, I did not come to discuss celebrations. I am here on the other matter.” 

“Perhaps you could be more specific?” 

Kim smothered a smile; it was too funny to see Optimus pull that evasion with someone else. She wondered if Ratchet would be annoyed. Instead of answering, he produced—like a magician pulling a bouquet from his sleeve—an amorphous thing about the size of a cello from his subspace. He lifted it full into the sunlight for a moment, and then placed in on the ground in front of Optimus’s hood. “I have sixty-three more, enough for a full cohort. Everyone has at least one. Ironhide has sixty-four, an entire case, still in its factory seal. Strongarm has fifty-three, all of them gleaned from crashed ships and ruined bases. Chromia has five thousand, three hundred and seventy-one. I don’t think she has any personal items at all; only these.”

Kim leaned forward over the dash to get a better look at the…thing. It was vaguely pear shaped, stiff but not completely rigid. She would have guessed a canvas sack, but it gleamed like oiled metal and had clinked slightly when Ratchet set it down. 

Optimus said, “No. I am sorry, my friend. It is not possible at this time.” 

“There is not enough for a cohort, obviously,” Ratchet continued, his voice carefully reasonable. Kim wondered what he was asking for, in an alien language with an alien witness. “Not enough energon, and not enough anything else, for that matter. But there is enough for one. There is enough for _one_ , Optimus. Enough to cultivate one generously with nothing spared.” 

“Nothing spared but safety and hope.” 

Ratchet snorted. “The universe has never promised safety, and hope is in your hands. Do this and there will be hope.” 

Softly, Optimus answered, “How can I? On a military base? Outnumbered and hunted by our enemies, hiding from the dominant life form, on the Unholy Sphere of Unmaking? How could I bring forth innocent life to this? It would be cruel—" He sounded like he was pleading, and Kim knotted her hands together miserably. 

“We have the resources. We have allies. Optimus, it is cruel to refuse—” 

“Don’t! Do. Not. Dare.” 

“Someone must. And frankly, My Prime, if it isn’t me, it will be someone else. Perhaps everyone else.” 

Inside the cab the air conditioning stuttered. Kim couldn’t translate the content of Optimus’ Cybertronix answer, but it had three negation pops interspersed with the other syllables. 

Ratchet didn’t back down. “I’m sorry,” he said firmly. “But you know it is true. If there is to be any future for us at all, you must—"

The first click-crunch that usually heralded the beginning of his transformation was abruptly squelched. He can’t transform with me in here. “Do I need to leave?” Kim asked. 

“I must protect those already living. Enough of you are at risk, enough have died! How dare you ask me for more!” He had dropped inflection; the only punctuation was volume. 

Ratchet dropped into alt so fast tiny pebbles scattered into the air. Then he kept on transforming until he was a cube about the size of Bumblebee’s alt. He was silent for a long moment. The sun was low, but hot and bright. It reflected off Ratchet’s bright, white, apparently seamless finish. At last he said, “Orion, you are speaking from your own fear, not what is best for your people. How long are we to remain barren and futureless? How long? When will it be time? When will it be safe enough?” 

“Ratchet—I am sorry.” 

“Beloved, you are wrong.” 

Softly, softly, Optimus said, “This discussion is over.” 

Ratchet didn’t argue. He transformed back to root. He picked up the thing, folded it into an origami octagon, and tucked it back into his subspace. “Good night, Kim. I apologize for interrupting your interview.” 

Kim sat in miserable silence until he was gone. 

The sun had dipped behind one of the maintained sheds, casting a long shadow over them. Kim turned her head. Jasper was a little hazy in the distance. Its streetlights weren’t on yet. She closed her eyes. “Optimus, are you okay?” 

“The discussion was not worse than anticipated,” he said slowly. 

“Why was I here for it?” 

“I am uncertain whether he intended to enlist you to his cause or simply a witness to remind me to keep my temper.” 

“Well. I can’t take sides in an internal quarrel. And I’m not thrilled about being used to manipulate you.” 

“It is not an unusual position for an ethnographer.” 

That was true. Kim winced. “Should I just pretend this didn’t happen?” 

“No. He has made a… logical argument. I—I am compelled to consider it. There are other issues. Some of them you may have…relevant insight about.” 

“Oh.” Oh, boy. “That… thing Ratchet had?”

“A portable replication environment.” 

“Not like the molecular replicator?” It was not really a question. Kim could tell what it was. 

“A womb.” 

That. Kim closed her eyes again. “Doing what Ratchet wants, making babies—”

“Sparklings,” he corrected gently. 

“Is it dangerous? For you?”

“No. Why would—? Kim similarities aside, I am not a biological female. I personally do not contribute data, materials, or energy to reproduction. The process carries no risk and does not deplete me.” 

She nodded. “Okay. Okay, that’s good.” 

“Kim, what would be the response—from your people—if I were to wield the matrix? If we were to … cultivate a sparkling, here?” 

“Oh. Well.” Kim shifted, stilled. “If they don’t actually see you do it, I don’t think they’ll see you as, uh, girly. I mean. There’s a lot of our own reproduction we don’t think about too closely. Men particular, if you see what I mean.”

“Ah.”

“No one will think too much about it. Well. Except for Mearing.” 

“Thank you. But that is not what I meant. How will it appear to humans if there are…offspring? Will you see us as colonizers? Aliens who come to take your resources or your people? Kim. Your own history. Your fiction. How will it frame how we are perceived?” 

When he finished the cab was so silent it was ringing. Kim couldn’t even hear her own breathing. “Oh, god,” she whispered. 

“You had not considered this?” 

“When they told me about the job—when they first told me—they said it was a community of immigrants, people who were military allies. I pictured children. I assumed—We do that, every few decades.” She shook her head helplessly. “I assumed it would be a whole community. Families.” 

“And when you consider it now?” 

“We’re…really irrational. And you’re aliens. I can’t…I can’t say you’re wrong to worry.”

“Thank you.”

“But I’m not sure it’s a bad idea. I mean, never mind that it’s horrible you’re so afraid of us you won’t make a s-sparkling. But you’re giant, alien war machines. If you had families—if there were—what would they be like, your children?” It was a question she had never asked; a topic Windblade had warned her not to bring up. Too sensitive, too tragic. 

“Unarmed. Not really armored. Small, but not small enough to be ‘cute’ I think.”

Kim waved a hand. “With the right narrative, we think spiders are cute. Or baby alligators.” Kim’s thoughts swirled, tumbled. How would any of this work? “Um. How long does it take for…. Growing up? Maturing?” 

“That is a more complicated question than you realize. There are many ways to develop a sparkling. If we constructed the frame and protomatter and power system and spark chamber in advance and place the behavioral flies in a memory module, we could have an ‘adult’ mech in a matter of days.”

“You don’t have the resources to build entire bodies,” Kim said, thinking of Ironhide. 

“And I certainly do not have the lax ethical standards. Creating mecha that way stunts physical development and causes distress to the soul. I will not do it, even if I could.” 

_He’s a very basic model, completely mass produced_. “Fixit?” Kim whispered.

“Yes.” He paused. “Most minicons. Pre-framed mecha –such an environment does not optimize protomatter growth. The growth can be forced, but health suffers greatly. A large frame cannot be sustained by stunted protoform… but a minicon does not need a large undifferentiated mass. And there is always work for small mecha.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“On Cybertron, before the Quintessons, we grew most cohorts collectively, in great incubators. Under those conditions, protomatter grows so bountifully that even exterior carapace was often specialized protomatter. 

“Most of the mecha you have met were incubated in tidy, separate drawers in one of the great creches. Those are all gone now, of course. The option available to us here in exile is separate, consumable cocoon. Each contains raw materials, a memory module, a spark containment unit, perhaps a basic processor. It is best if a small sample of protomatter is added to help the process along. Including complex parts and a packet of data files is not strictly necessary, but… it gives the developing sparkling an advantage. Ratchet’s cocoons, of course, are of the highest quality, so speed of gestation would only be limited by quantity of energon. Not that you want delicate parts developing too quickly. From implantation to hatching… ideally about six weeks.” He trailed off and was silent for a moment. 

“Of course, the being that emerged would not be one you would recognize. Individuals that are left to develop with minimal pre-programmed structure are frequently…idiosyncratic. And the first two or three Earth years are often taken up with experimenting with body shape and configuration.” 

Kim blinked. “Like….what?” 

A picture appeared on the dash’s small screen. It reminded Kim of a skeletal bulldozer with lobster claws and lots of antennae. It was bright green and had three apparently spherical-wheels. “That was me,” he said. “Call it ‘nursery school’--just before I was given a choice of…more efficient frame types to adopt.” 

“That’s…adorable. Maybe ‘cute’ won’t be a problem.” Her stomach clinched. This baby looked nothing like a war machine. “Um. Did you want to …” Kim waved a hand helplessly, “give it up? The shape?” 

“I did not. But it was time to become a contributing member of society. I had developed the correct attributes for data management. The frame I took was compatible with that. I do not regret the sensory bandwidth or data inputs.” 

“So…if you had a sparkling now,” it was easier to say the word, “how long would we have a little…tinker toy?” The image was still there: unarmed, curious, innocent. 

“Three years? Seven? Perhaps about fifteen. Rarely more than forty. It will vary, if we do not set external limits.”

Kim tried to picture childhood lasting forty years. “Really?”

“The physical development of humans follows a specific order and timetable. But even for your kind, emotional and intellectual development varies.” He paused. “Development will be complicated. If I were to do as Ratchet asks, the sparkling would have no peers to interact with. Most of the mech in the community are soldiers—that is not how it is normally done. And the community includes a great number of aliens.”

Aliens. Humans. “You, uh, think we might be a bad influence on…him?” 

“I have no idea what kind of influence human culture would be. The data packets included in the cocoon would have to include English, human handling tolerances, a list of Earth hazards to avoid. I do not know what any of that will lead to. It will be new.” 

Kim’s heart sank. “You could…do it somewhere else,” she said. “Keep your baby away from humans for a few years?” 

“Give them no preparation for the community it will eventually live in?” He broke off. “Kim, when you produce offspring, is it your intention to conceal our existence from them?”

“Oh, no. I have no intentions regarding any offspring. Parenting is hard enough when you have a spouse and you’re not in the field and there isn’t a war.” Which, actually, was pretty much what Optimus had said to Ratchet. Kim’s eyes blurred over.

“Does that…bother you?” he asked gently. 

Kim reached out and laid her hand on the hula dancer base Optimus used as an interface with his passengers. “Not the way it does you.”

“No. Perhaps not. Your people have children. Almost a billion children, and the war we brought to you endangers them.” 

“That’s hard to think about.” Kim leaned in close to the beautifully kitchy sensor node. “We’ll win the war together. Your people and mine. And you will make a cohort of sparklings. Sixty-four. We’ll put their pictures in People magazine, like the children of movie stars. And the Earth will have energon, and you will teach us how to colonize Mars.”

“Sharenting is a dubious practice.” 

“Okay, no sharenting.”

“Kim.” Almost weeping, almost a feather of resonance across her teeth. “I do not know if I should do this, what Ratchet has asked. What almost everyone has hinted at since Australia. Everyone has done the math.” He paused. “I want to. So much it clouds my judgement.” 

There was nothing Kim could say to that. They sat in silence for a long time. 

*** 

The next day was almost a day off. A light day, anyway. Kim and Hound (no longer dressed as a serious-looking government van) went to check on Raf. They settled in the park down the street from Raf’s house. The sprinklers had run that morning, but the grass was already drying. Kim settled at a picnic table in the pavilion and took out her language notebook to practice. 

Since she would never be actually speaking it--so far she had found only about five words her voice could approximate--the lessons weren’t the practical “Excuse me, where is the ladies’ loo?’ or “How much does this scarf cost?” and tended toward the odd: “These sets do not overlap,” and “These sets are miscatagorized.” 

Hound, fairly new to earth, found the idea of teaching a language one word at a time strange and awkward. He was eager to help, though, and as curious about Kim’s thinking as she was about his.

That morning, since he was parked at the curb, they used Kim’s phone so she could translate short sentences he gave her. They managed about a dozen before she faltered. “You are irritated by...something?”

He repeated the peppery squeek of the missing term. 

“I don’t know that word.” 

“It’s rain.” 

Kim considered, irritated herself at how slow and clumsy she was at this. Then she picked up her notebook and--in large letters--drew the symbols to spell Cybertronix rain. She held it up facing him. “This is rain. This was not that.” Her heart was sinking. Synonyms. She had been promised there would be almost none of those. Cybertronix was not nearly as redundant as English. Theoretically. 

“Well, yes,” Hound said. “I apologize. It is a question of aspect. Of course, you have not learned that yet. It was my error.”

Aspect. The word was familiar. Was it--verb aspect? Yes. She had spent several weeks in tears during Russian Two because there wasn’t one form for almost every verb, but two because-- 

Kim picked up the notebook and held it up again. “Is this a verb?”

“It is the category you call ‘noun.’ You are correct,” he said. 

“How the hell does a noun have aspect? Is it--is it acting like a verb in this sentence?” 

“Perhaps ‘aspect’ is the wrong label. I am not a linguist… but I do not find another term.”

Kim closed her eyes, but did not let herself slump. “Okay, how did that change the meaning of the sentence?”

“It expressed completeness. The #t form specified that the speaker does not hate rain in the abstract, but in all of its actual forms and iterations.” 

“So like, all precipitation? Forms like snow and sleet and hail?”

“No, rain: excluding other precipitations, but including all actual rain storms, including those in the future but not specifically including the concept of rain as an abstract.” 

“Right. The division between abstract and real is very important.” Slowly, Kim pulled the notebook in front of her and wrote all that down. She glanced up at Hound’s alt--a green Jeep parked innocently at the curb. “Okay. Tell me the different...aspects of rain.” 

Aspects, she thought. My old enemy. 

It was worse than she’d thought. He gave her terms for single specified rain event, unknown rain event, multiple specific rain events, the abstract idea of rain, absolutely all rain events (the one that had caused the problem), and rain in its individual drops. 

“Wait, ‘Rain in its individual drops?’”

Slowly, with a much longer gap between words than he would leave in normal conversation, Hound said, _“I hate (verb form for inanimate object) rain-in-its-individual-drops.”_

“So that jacked up the vehemence. Like, taking the time to hate the drops individually?” 

“No. In context the drops are not hated individually. They are hated together. And vehemence was added with glyphs.” 

“Someone actually said that?”

“Ironhide said it to me while were in Texas last month.” 

“Oh,” Kim breathed. Yes, Ironhide would hate the drops; they messed up the sensors he used in alt. “Um, so, is this really an issue of mass nouns?” 

“I am not sure. Raf has arrived. Perhaps he can explain.” 

Raf put down the radio-controlled car he’d brought to the park and listened to the problem, tracing his fingers lightly over the cybertronic words on the paper. He sighed. “It is not an issue of mass nouns. There aren’t any. You’re going to have to apply aspect.”

Kim made herself take a deep breath. “You told me there were mass nouns!” Yep. That came out harder than it should, given he was eleven. 

He looked sheepish. “I was dumbing it down for you. Kim, how can people who know that everything is made of molecules divide things into ‘less’ and ‘fewer?’ The way they see it….” 

He paused and sat carefully down on the bench beside her. 

“Raf? You okay?”

“I saw it both ways for a second. The way you see it and they way they do. You can be so much more specific in Cybertonix. It’s astonishing anyone understands anything in English.”

“So Spanish and Russian speakers tell me,” Kim said sourly. “At least it’s not Navajo.” 

“Hound? You don’t think in human languages, do you? You just translate really fast?” Raf said.

“With few exceptions. If a term truly has no translation, if I learned the concept here, the label is usually English. There aren’t many. Some time terms are so imprecise it is uncomfortable to translate. ‘Jiffy.’ ‘While.’ They are so vague to seem deliberately disrespectful. I know they are not meant so. Other words are very exotic; ‘Parent.’ ‘Delicious.’ ‘Cute.’ Cute is very useful--it combines many properties we consider separately.”

“You have ‘charming,’” Kim said, writing it out. Raf took the pen and corrected one of the letters. “That is a subjective judgement of properties, too.” 

“The subjective judgement of cute is a response to particular cues human brains are optimized to notice. Even knowing it is not arbitrary for you, the category seems artificial to me. I have been analyzing cute animal youtube videos for the last five orns. I like them very much. I can now reliably predict what images are likely to be labeled as ‘cute.’ However, I do not have an emotional response to ‘cuteness.’ I feel empathy for these creatures in their curiosity, fear, affection, courage, and trust. But no more so than for creatures that are not considered cute.”

Kim’s phone flipped from the glyph app to a video of baby goats climbing up and sliding down a slanted board. “This is cute. It is also charming. In this moment we are sharing in their joy.” He paused. “Kim, is it a violation of their privacy, to know so much about their experience when they know nothing of us?” 

“Um.” Kim glanced at Raf. He was gazing out across the grass--distracted or refusing to enter this discussion. “Is privacy a thing for Mecha?” 

“Of course.”

“That’s not what Ratchet says.” 

“Ratchet--one moment. Ah. The idea he rejects is medical privacy. Relevant facts of material reality cannot be private. But subjective experience, emotions, hopes, or shames--of course those are private. My internal mental state-- obviously, it cannot be completely concealed. Emotions expressed in one’s field are visible to other mecha, but one knows when another mecha is present. These baby goats, they do not know they were recorded, or who is watching.”

“They don’t care. They don’t have shame. And they can’t--well not as much--construct a theory of mind like we do. They can’t imagine that anyone is judging them. Or enjoying watching them.” 

A pause. “I wish to meet one.”

It took a moment for that to sink in. “Oh no. I mean, it wouldn’t accidentally climb into you like a cat, but they chew on things and they poop everywhere and they--can you even train one?” 

“I do not wish to become a guardian of a goat. I only wish to meet one.”

Well… it wasn’t like he was asking for a tiger. “We could have a goat brought in...I guess…” She glanced at Raf, who was still staring into space and no help at all. 

“I can go to where goats are. It would be helpful to have human support.”

Kim clinched her jaw. It would be helpful to have a human who didn’t know fuck-all about goats. But unless one of the NEST guys had grown up on a farm, she was totally out of luck there. “I’ll read up on it,” she said, sighing. “Hey, Raf? You okay?”

“I fed some goats in a petting zoo, once. My big brother made me. I was scared. It had funny eyes. It seems silly now. There’s way scarier things than goats.” 

Kim smiled encouragingly. “Well you’ve met giant, alien war robots now.” 

He looked at her sharply. “Kim, are you afraid of them?” 

“No. No. Raf, they won’t hurt us--”

“We’re not talking about me. Are _you_ afraid of them? They’re different. They’re not human. They don’t think like you.” He was facing her now, looking at her hard and searchingly.

“Lots of humans don’t think like me.” But she couldn’t quite meet his eyes. 

“What about them frightens you?”

“They’re big and they move fast. It’s like a carnival ride sometimes. The movement--”

“No. I don’t mean that. I mean, they don’t have brains. They don’t think, they process. They don’t feel the same way you do. They don’t love like you.” 

“No, they do. Raf, what’s wrong with you?”

“They have no heart. They have no soul, Kim.” 

“They do! I’ve—” She had seen Cliffjumper’s soul degrading into a flash of light frequencies when his spark containment collapsed. But she couldn’t put that image in Raf’s head. “They do. They’re people, I know that. Raf, what’s gotten into you?”

He looked her for a long moment and then chewed his lower lip. “I’ve been having bad dreams this week.” 

Oh. “About them?” 

He shook his head. “About us.”

“What did we do? Raf, are you...are you worried we’ll hurt them? Or are you-you know Bee’s okay, right? He’s on patrol right now, but he’ll be back tomorrow night.”

“Do you feel like they belong here? On Earth?” 

Kim bit her lip. “Well. It’s hard for them to be here. Because of the water and the salt and the oxygen. It would be better--a little healthier--if they stayed at higher altitudes where it’s dry. But it’s not bad. Some parts need repairing more often. Nothing they can’t manage. Raf, they’ll work it out,” she finished lamely. She felt guilty, having said it. Rust and grit and wear weren’t things he needed to worry about.

“And…that’s it?”

Kim nodded. “Pretty much. It’ll be okay. They are so much like us--”

He flinched. 

Kim wondered if she should pat him on the head. Or call him ‘kiddo.’ Or offer him candy or something. She took a waterbottle out of her canvas bag and passed it to him. “You want to tell me what this is about?” 

He swallowed a third of the water in one go and shook his head.

“Do you want me to walk away, so you can tell Hound what this is about?” 

He shook his head vigorously. “Just--you like them, right? You care about them? They’re your friends.” 

“Yes. As much as if they were human. More than a lot of humans.” 

“Okay,” he whispered. “Will you promise….you’ll tell me if you start being afraid of them? Or angry at them with no reason? Or grossed out or something? Will you tell me?” 

“Um. Well.” He was a kid. “I guess. But, Raf--”

“Will you tell Optimus? Do you promise? If you start having bad feelings, will you promise to tell him? This is important.” 

“Okay. Sure. If I did, I would.” 

Raf nodded, and let the conversation drift after that. He had day camp next week. Church camp. He was looking forward to the craft and hiking parts, but not the fishing or archery. Kim listened, asking the right questions. 

She could always ask questions. 

When he went home, she asked Hound what that had been all about. 

“He will not tell me. Or Bee. Or Jazz. It is why I suggested you come today. He has been very worried about something all week. His field is the most disturbed any of us have seen. But it is difficult to interpret; his magnetic field is not typically human.”

“Optimus told me.” 

“He is highly intelligent, but immature. Perhaps he is only now realizing how truly precarious our position is. As you have repeatedly pointed out, he is just a kid. All worries exceed his ability to resolve the situations.” 

Kim ran her hand through her hair. “Have I done something? Is there some reason he’d think I might be secretly hating any of you. Or all of you, completeness-aspect.” 

“His worries are his own, not a reaction to you.” 

“Because I don’t.” 

“Kim. We see your field. And because you are so frequently in our presence, we are familiar with its idiosyncratic patterns. You react to Autobots as people, not things, and as friends, not enemies. I am certain you have never wished me harm.”

Kim ran her hand along the apparent CD player where he housed his interior sensors. “Oh, my friend. Never.” 

She went to the salon to get purple tips, since the color she put in didn’t last two weeks. She splurged on a fuchsia-to-lavender ombre. Appearance was important to mecha. 

Lunch was hamburger and onion rings. Then a trip to the store before heading back to base. Because Hound was scheduled for patrol in Chile.

The infirmary was quiet: because there was enough energon to speed up production in the fabricator, Ratchet needed some ‘quiet time’ to lay out the specifications of what he wanted. His humans had been sent home to study. (Ratchet still found it frustrating that information could not simply be uploaded into humans.)

Kim’s afternoon appointment was with Mirage. They were party planning. 

Mirage’s Earth persona had landed on the glamorous side. His alt was a royal blue Tesla (not presented to him in the hanger, but observed on a patrol through Los Angeles). In root, he deepened the blue to an impossibly lustrous sheen and accented it with pearlescent white accents. His voice was a tenor, light but resonant. 

He met Kim in the bot commissary area—Mirage sitting at a large, metal table faced with stone and Kim sitting on a folding chair on the table. 

He made perfectly executed small talk for a few minutes—pointedly admiring her new hair colors—before getting down to business. “I’ve been going over Jazz’s data on human partying. I have developed a typology.”

He projected into the air between them a chart that was mostly in English but had tiny Cybertronix annotations. The first division was parties with and without food. Parties with food was subdivided into food that had nutritional content and ceremonial food that had no nutritious content. 

Before Kim could absorb more than that, the chart vanished and was replaced with a series of Venn diagrams. “These parties here—consumption of neurotoxic chemicals and bad dancing—the references describe them as fun, but they must be a sort of obligatory ceremonial performance. Like Church. We can exclude those right off the top.” 

Kim blinked. “Um.”

Mirage patiently explained: “Humans in general are excellent dancers. That anyone would do this,” another projection, this time of a rave, appeared beside the diagram, “voluntarily is incomprehensible.” 

Kim stared. “Because of the bad dancing?” 

He clicked softly, a polite expression of impatience between equals. Kim squinted at the spray of Venn diagrams. “The thing is. The dancing. We get a lot of internal feedback. We like the feel of dancing and music even when it isn’t pretty. Not all dancers are doing art.” She waved a hand at the rave video. “Our brain’s pleasure feedback is easy to hack. That is what the chemicals do. It feels good. But you’re right, that’s off the agenda: the military won’t do that on base.” 

The rave was replaced with a recording of a promotion ceremony Kim recognized. She had attended it last month. Mirage gave his critique: “Sitting quietly. Consumption of symbolic food. Balloons.” 

Kim had taken one of those balloons home afterward. It was still inflated. When the Army blew up a balloon, they did it right. “I think we can go a bit less formal,” Kim said. “More expressive.” 

Mirage leaned slightly toward her. “What can we do that humans would enjoy?” 

“Interesting food that tastes good would impress the humans.” Or, at least, it would impress me. “We don’t need balloons. Um, I’d wondered—I mean, mecha have told me that energon consumption can be social. I’ve never seen that. What do they mean?” 

“Our limited supply is not conductive to…purely symbolic consumption.” He flashed a picture of a wedding cake. Right. Purely symbolic consumption. Wedding cake didn’t even usually taste good. “Perhaps a ‘dinner party’ is a fair equivalent.” 

“What’s that like? How formal? Served? Or Buffet?” 

He paused. “Buffett? Energon is not brought to us, but we go to it. However, a host might pour from a pitcher rather than allow individuals to take from a dispenser.” 

“Since we’re celebrating energon, would it be appropriate to serve it, too? Everybody eats?”

“Appropriate. But complicated. A prime will be present. He has to take or be presented with his portion first.” 

Kim winced. That might gum things up a lot. “Very ceremonial?” 

“Not necessarily. Not elaborate. But he must be first, and if we are eating with humans and they eat without waiting, some of our ‘Bots will be offended.” 

Kim shrugged. “So we make the humans wait. No big.” At his blank look, she explained, “You signal to humans it’s not time to eat. You put a cloth over the food. Have a welcome first. Optimus heads the food line. Humans uncover our table. Nobody eats early.”

“We cannot put the consumables together! Refined energon—”

“The table height wouldn’t work anyway. Okay. Opposite sides of the room.” 

They went on and on and on with food. Finger food? Full meal? Real plates or paper plates? When Kim heard the budget Optimus had set, she asked Mirage to calculate the price of steak, artichokes, fresh mutz, and quinoa. The total he gave her still left seven thousand dollars on the table. Geez. 

The technology the Bots shared with humans came attached to patents. Most of the devices were for consumer electronics, but some of it was very fancy communications gear for the military. The residules were fair, but Optimus was practically printing money—not that money was the highest priority Bots could buy fancy toys or Earth media if they wanted, but what they needed was Energon, and money couldn’t buy that. 

Human allies made energon possible, and this was the party to thank them for that. Kim suggested shipping in aloo gobi, mussaman curry, Cincinnati and Texas chili, paella, stuffed mushrooms, and fettucine alfredo from whatever restaurants would ship with dry ice. 

The total was still under budget, and Kim was out of ideas. Crab cakes, maybe? Ugh. Maybe when they met with the morale officer and the DFAC supervisor they would have ideas.

In order to limit energon spillage and highlight the specialness of the occasion, the energon would not be served as a dispensed liquid, but in marble-sized spherical or cube-shaped membranes of silicone and iron. “Before the war,” Marriage said, “it was pure, flowing energon that had the cache. You served it in transparent containers so everyone could admire the purity of the refinement. Wrapping it up in raw materials was….utilitarian. Of course now we don’t go to the extra trouble. We gulp down the energon and whatever raw materials we need in whatever form we can manage.”

“Do we have the facilities here? To, um, make the membranes?” 

“Probably. It doesn’t matter—the process isn’t complicated. You could do it with Earth technology.” 

When they had worked out the menu, Mirage brought up a new array of projections. “We must talk about entertainment.” 

Kim felt her eyes widen. “What did you have in mind?” One of the images was of a magician at a child’s party. Another appeared to be a group of humans playing Twister—with much less clothing than usual. And was that a string quartet? “Wow. Uh.” 

“Sadly, for security reasons, outside entertainment is out of the question. But there is some talent here on base. Gonzales and Abramoff play guitar. They must be invited to perform a number.” 

“Oh. Right. Yes. Good idea.” 

“I have also been keeping an audial on the karaoke sessions in the DFAC.” He blinked out an image of three guys—the pulse cannon crew?—gathered at the mic. 

“Wait—you don’t fit in the DFAC.” 

“The karaoke machines are hooked to the network. This team is the best, I think.” 

“Oh.” Karaoke was too embarrassing to contemplate even when there weren’t mecha making recordings on the network. Kim tended to be a little flat. 

The three guys leaned in and warbled, “Angelica! Eliza! And Peggy! The Schuyler sisters! Angelica! Peggy! Eliza! Work! Daddy said to be home by sundown.”

“What the hell is that?” Kim squeaked. They were huge guys, in camo, with-high-and-tight hair, and they were perfectly on key. Crooning about how “daddy didn’t need to know” something.

“That is the Schuyler Sisters; Hamilton, Lin-Manuel Miranda, 2015. This is an unusual but well executed interpretation.” 

“Oh.” 

“Seargent Peshlakai is also a good performer. Her rendition of Weird Al’s I’m So Handy is artfully done.”

“Is it?”

“I think she would make an entertaining contribution.” 

“Mirage.” 

“Kim?”

“That song is a parody. Do you, um, understand it?” 

He chuckled. “Yes, but I took a short cut. Jazz has a file. Humans have the most marvelous gift for word play and subversion. Transformative works.” He smiled so naturally that Kim almost forgot he’d never seen one until last month. “It is complex and hard to grasp sometimes, but fortunately, you analyze it yourself, in great detail, on the internet.” He paused. “I also enjoy the original: ‘Can't stand no haters and honest, the truth is; And my flow retarded, they speak it, depart it.’ It is a work of pure genius.” 

Kim’s breath caught. She didn’t laugh. “Oh,” she said. 

“Inappropriate for a formal gathering of military personnel. More’s the pity. Did I use that phrase correctly?”

“Yes. It’s a little old fashioned, though. Unless you’re using it ironically.” 

“Irony—there is so much of it in English. Fortunately, most of it is unsubtle.” 

“You know, humans can’t do all the performing,” Kim said carefully. “I hear you dance.” 

Mirage went very still. For a long moment he was silent, even his vents. “I cannot dance armored like this or with my shoulders braced to wield weapons. And I certainly cannot dance with this pedal array.” He lifted one foot and held it out so Kim could see. “But yes. It would be good to share our art with you. I was thinking, perhaps, an Opera. The Insight of Solas Prime. Or The Tragedy of Helex.”

An opera. Right, because the army was known for its love of opera. Kim thought very fast. “How long are these?”

“About six hours, in the full form. We do not quite have enough adequate performers to cover all the parts. Our choice would have to be redacted. Perhaps…twenty percent shorter?” 

“Humans cannot sit still that long without having to pee.” 

His chin tilted upward slightly in surprise. “I had not considered that. I see. How long would you recommend?” 

“Thirty minutes. Max.” And even that—The previous week, Jazz had played Kim a poem that sounded like a commuter train derailing. She bit her lip. “I know it would be wrong to ask any of you to perform in English. And NEST should have some taste of authentic Cybertronian music. But. Can you pick something that sounds like it’s in eight note scale? Ease us into it? If you’re not used to hearing something it’s—we won’t be able to follow the pattern. We’ll just get confused.” 

He sprouted the tips of antenna along the top of his helm, like a short mohawk. They withdrew. “An octave scale? What an odd idea.”

“I’m sorry. It’s so rude to ask.” 

“Not at all. It is hardly your fault the audience is unsophisticated.” 

Kim wasn’t going to touch that. 

“Nothing comes to mind right away, but I’ll confab with Jazz and Bee and we’ll come up with something.” He smiled. “Something short.” 

_~TBC_


	4. Contingency

The meeting with Mirage was the last on Kim’s schedule. There was no evening interview with Optimus. His meeting in Sochi was done before noon, but after that was another in Washington and another at Edwards Airforce Base and he would have to bridge out in the middle of the night for a Friday morning meeting England, so Ratchet was putting his ped down about the shut-down schedule. Kim caught up on her notes and then caught up on Netflix until she fell asleep.

She was still asleep at 6:15 when the combat alarms went off. 

Panicking, she fumbled for her phone. It wasn’t on the charger—it hardly ever needed charging, Bulkhead had ‘upgraded’ it, where was it—

She found it on the floor under her chair, and swiped into the Base Announcements part of the schedule app. 

DECEPTICON CONTACT. BUMBLEBEE. JAZZ. NEPAL. ALL PERSONEL DUTY STATIONS.

Oh, shit. 

Kim came running out of the Cold War corridor in sockless sneakers and shorts with her nightshirt. June and Pierre lived in town. Even if they got clearance to enter through the ‘Bot entrance, Ratchet would be short-handed for at least twenty minutes. 

Arcee, in her combined root form, was in the infirmary opening the medical berths. “Where’s Ratchet?” Kim asked. 

“At the bridge,” she said shortly. “They won’t let him go through. Slipstream is trying to get a satellite picture of the fight in Janakpur.” She waved at the blank screens slightly above her eye level. 

Kim glanced around. There were no humans. “How bad is it?” she asked. 

“Jazz is in pieces.”

Kim choked. “Is he alive?” 

“At the moment.” She snared one of the rolling tables and started laying out wrench heads and medical tape. “If Ratchet can get him stabilized when the retrieval team brings him back, also for the foreseeable future.” 

“Oh, God.” Kim turned to the human-level cabinets and started taking out supplies. 

“Face shield and long gloves,” Arcee said. “There’s going to be energon everywhere.” 

*** 

Jazz was carried in on an active pallet. Active, in this case, meant running on thousands of tiny feet, like a huge, spongy, orangish millipede. 

Ratchet was keeping pace with the pallet, leaning over the motionless silver form, both servos buried in torn plating. Bobby and Dr. Nomura were riding beside Jazz’s head, which was turned at an odd angle—

Kim realized with a start that the head was detached, and they were keeping it from rolling off. That was the point Kim stopped thinking.

Get the narrow tape, no, the silicon narrow tape.

Hold this clamp. 

Get the wetvac for that energon spill. 

What Ratchet and the others were doing to Jazz-- Kim didn’t look at that, didn’t think about. 

“Oh, shit. My glove tore. Kim! Hold this, lean into it, it wants to slide—” 

Kim took over for…someone. She leaned hard against torn mesh while Ratchet welded…something. 

“Kim. Let go. Kim.” 

Shaking, she sagged backward—and would have fallen off the pallet if Bobby had not put out a hand to catch her. Shaking, Kim stood, one hand braced against the scuffed armor of Jazz’s thigh. Which Ratchet was reattaching to Jazz’s hip. 

Jeez. 

Kim would have brushed her hair out of her eyes, but her gloves were smeared with energon. She looked around. Nothing was frantic anymore. No one was rushing. Ratchet, Arcee, and most of the trainees were working on Jazz. They were still working. So Jazz was still alive. 

Drift was on a medical berth, shoulder plating removed, arm slack and depowered. Carly was taping up cabling with swift, efficient motions. Kim hadn’t even seen Drift come in…. 

“Kim? If you are free?” 

She jumped and spun around. That was Fixit’s voice. He was on the other berth—

Half on top of Bumblebee, whose abdomen was open. For a moment she couldn’t breathe. 

“Kim? I could use your hands here…?” 

“Yeah. Right.” 

The climb down from the pallet was dizzying. She had to take a couple of breaths before crossing the floor and scurrying up the footholds of the medical berth. 

She realized, as she braced her feet on the steel supports, that Bee’s armor was neatly folded aside, not ripped open. He was dented in several places. One of his antenna was dangling by the wires. But there wasn’t energon dripping onto the floor. 

She tore her attention away from Bee and looked at Fixit. “What, um? Ah…”

He produced a tool—it was pointed like a nut pick on one side and had a socket to attach to a mech servo on the other—and handed it to her before going back to clipping aside wires and tubing. “It is not a wound. His proximal regulator overloaded when his shield failed. It must be replaced.” 

“Okay. Um. I. What do I do?”

“Remove your gloves; you will not need them.” Kim looked down; the long gloves were smeared with three colors of fluid. Her hands shook a little as she pealed them off. “I am not currently able to initiate a medical interface. I cannot override the reflex. You will hold the catch open manually.” He reached in, did something, a tiny hole appeared. He nudged the tip of the tool over it. “Insert and press here. A force of three thousand pascals is needed.” 

What the fuck was a pascal? Kim eased the point in and pushed it downward. Slowly she brought more weight behind it and suddenly a socket snapped open. 

“Excellent. Remain still.” Fixit leaned in, blocking Kim’s view, but there were sounds. Clinks. Taps. Soft scrapes. A snip once. 

The nut pick was not shaped for human holding and Kim’s hands were sweaty and weak. It wanted to slip. Kim breathed through her nose and kept the pressure steady. 

Fixit produced a multi-pronged object about the size of Kim’s fist. He exchanged it for another, and the soft sounds resumed for a moment. 

“Шθ 幾自خا어 ی 久自” Fixit said. It took several seconds for the sounds to match to meaning: Primus have mercy. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“The part is not an exact match. It does not fit.” 

“Oh.” Kim’s voice cracked on that. She would have asked what a proximal regulator did, but she wasn’t sure she could get the words out whole. Kim shifted her grip on the tool. 

“Hold out your hand,” Fixit instructed. 

Kim put her left thumb over the uneven end of the rod to keep the pressure steady and let go with her right hand. Fixit dropped a bolt into it. 

“Can—can I ask what we’re doing?” 

“I must re-seat the basal connector so that the replacement can be adequately braced in position.” He dropped another bolt into Kim’s hand. 

Clicks. Taps. Soft scrapes. A strange creak. 

“Um, Bee’s not conscious, right?”

Bumblebee answered himself, a weakly ascending-chirrup greeting. 

“Oh. Geez. Hey, Bee. I didn’t mean to be rude.” 

Kim couldn’t put meaning to his answer. Her left wrist and thumb ached. Trying to keep the pressure steady, Kim shifted her grip. 

Fixit retrieved one of the bolts. 

“So. Was the weather in Nepal nice?” 

Bee answered, _Rain. Negation!_

Kim forced a laugh. “Hey. I understood that. Cool.” Sort of. Had he meant there had been no rain? Or that the weather wasn’t nice because of rain? 

Fixit retrieved the other bolt and kept working: Click, click, click. Tap. Whirrrrr. 

“I’m, um, sorry, Bee. My conversation skills are not great.”

Softly, a few strains of “Don’t worry, be happy,” in instrumental. 

Snap. Whirrrrr. Whirrrr. “Release the pin, Kim.” 

As soon as she stopped pressing down the, bracket shaped shut. Kim handed the tool back with sore fingers. Fixit made it disappear. “Thank you. Your help was appreciated. We are finished for now; Ratchet will repair the sensor nodule himself, later.”

“Okay. Yeah.” Kim looked around. Things were much quieter. Ratchet was welding something on one of Jazz’s legs while Dr. Nomura spread raw materials gel in a gash on the other. Kim knew that procedure—raw materials jel, then mesh template, then iron wire tape. 

Drift was alone on the other pallet. His optics were dark: in recharge, then, running repair apps. 

June and Pierre were cleaning up spilled energon from the floor. 

“Okay,” Kim said again, looking at the long climb back down to the floor. “I’m just going to sit here for a minute. Um? Nobody died?” 

Fixit did not look up from cleaning away extra smears of raw materials gel. “No one has died. Corporal Lee has a broken arm and required forty stitches.” He paused. “Odd. Bone is not stitched. The report is unclear.” 

Kim closed her eyes. 

The human footsteps—running—were sneakers, not boots, and Kim assumed it was one of the trainees, especially when the steps didn’t hesitate, but mounted the ladder on the pallet without losing any speed. When Kim opened her eyes, though, it was Director Mearing who was clambering over the edge. 

At odds with both her speed and her general reputation, her voice was very gentle. “Hi, Bee. I heard you had a rotten day.” 

Trilling, Bumblebee pushed himself up, nearly dislodging Fixit. Bee reached out, scooped Mearing in the curve of his arm, and pulled her in against his chest. Mearing laid herself flat against him, arms around his neck, body pressed--as close as his armor would allow--to his spark. 

The fuzzy misery that had sucked Kim down for—how long? Hours? What time was it?--began to slide away. This wasn’t a coincidence. Mearing was overlapping. Deliberately. 

Bee whined and then played two bars of “Don’t Fear the Reaper.” 

Mearing laughed and thunked him gently on the shoulder. “Don’t be a baby. I had your telemetry. It was not a near death experience.” 

He answered with obscure Weird Al: “You used to think I was nice; now you tell all your friends I’m the antichrist.” 

Mearing laughed and hugged tighter. “Keep it up and I’ll sing Rick Astley at you.” 

Bee crooned and thrummed. The sounds were too drawn out to be phonemes. Kim had heard him make them to Raf. 

Right. No. This was too private for her to be watching. Carefully stepping from support to support, Kim retreated toward the ladder. 

*** 

Someone had brought a cart of water and power bars. Kim found her phone in her pocket. It was 11:17. On, oh. Friday. Kim guzzled a water, pocketed two power bars, and started the walk back to the bathroom. 

Nobody died. Nobody died. 

Back in her room, Kim cleared her calendar, not caring where she was ‘supposed’ to be the rest of the day, and turned off her phone. She stripped off the clothing that smelled like coolant and ozone and wrapped herself in a blanket before falling onto the bed. She didn’t sleep. 

It wasn’t sleeping, but she felt blurry and distant when the knock came at her door. It would have been nice to be sleeping. But now there was knocking.

She considered getting up and finding clothes. She gave it reasoned consideration. And she decided to stay where she was. 

The knocking stopped. 

Kim barely had time to approve of that before her phone blinked on and Optimus’s voice came out of it. “Kim? Director Mearing reports you will not answer your door, and Slipstream confirms a life form in your room. Are you unwell?” 

Oh, hell. She nearly fell out of bed scrambling for the phone. “Fine! I’m fine, Boss. Yay.” And please don’t send Slipstream to come break down the door. Because. Seriously. Her eyes pricked with tears. 

The pause was long enough that he was probably consulting with someone.

“Kim, I am in Alexandria. I cannot come to you. I am sorry. Will you allow Director Mearing to confirm your status?”

“Is that who’s at the door?”

“Yes.” 

“Oh, marvelous. Sure. Just. Um. Give me a minute.” 

Kim found clean jeans and a tee shirt, kicked the dirty clothes into the corner, ran a hand through her hair. 

Yes, Charlotte Mearing was on the other side of the door. Kim sagged, stepping back so she could enter. 

Mearing took Kim’s phone. “I’ll take it from here, Prime. Some privacy would be appreciated.” 

“Understood. Contact me if you need to.” 

Mearing turned off the phone, laid it face down on the desk. She looked Kim up and down. “Well. You haven’t been drinking.” 

“No, I haven’t been drinking!” 

“Can I ask why you’re a mess?” 

“They brought Jazz in in pieces.” 

“Yeah. That certainly sucks.” The older woman thought for a moment. She went to Kim’s fridge, found a bottle of water, put it in Kim’s hand. “Sit down. Drink all of that.” 

Kim sank down on the bed. Mearing retrieved a bottle of tea for herself and sat in the desk chair. She said, “They brought Jazz in with his spark and memory intact. Everything else is fixable. His own internal repair can realign the twisted hip-joint. I am told Ratchet expects to be able to have his head ready to reattach by Monday at the latest.” 

Jazz’s head was just sensors and back-up memory. 

“He’s in stasis, Kim. He is not in pain. Jazz will be fine.” 

“Right. Of course. Bee and Drift?” 

“A matter of integrating repairs, that’s all. An orn.” 

“That’s good. Okay.” Kim stood up hopefully. “Thanks. I appreciate—” 

“Kim, I didn’t come here to hold your hand. I need a report.” 

“On, what? I obviously have no idea what’s going on—”

“Raf Esquivel.” 

Kim sat back down. “He’s a friend of Bee’s. A kid in town. Bee keeps annoying the military by visiting him.” 

“Hound recommends bringing him here. To the base. For a visit. Today.” 

Kim shrugged, tried to push her muddy thoughts into some kind of coherence, decided on a statement. “He’s not a security risk. He won’t tell anybody.” 

Mearing sipped the tea. She put the bottle down. She folded her hands. “I was told to stay out of it. I was told not to make a big deal out of this. Out of him. Bee likes humans, making friends he‘s not supposed to isn’t unusual….” 

Oh. 

“Kim, I think I need the truth here, and I need it from a human perspective.” 

Kim dropped here eyes. “The army doesn’t know this. Raf knew what Bee was, just from looking at him. And he speaks Cybertronix. And nobody taught him.” 

Mearing leaned back, considering. “He can’t speak it.” 

“He understands it. He’s teaching me grammar.” 

“How?” Her voice had gone hard: orange tree. 

“They don’t know. If Raf knows, he won’t say it. He’s a kid. He really is. But something in all this happened to him. Optimus—he thinks maybe when the Cube was destroyed…Raf was in the area, and, I don’t know. I read the report. After Prime told me. Just before the end it was throwing off sparks, it was bringing random electronics to life—” Kim grimaced. Those accidents had been short-lived, insane life. Violent, languageless, mindless life. Little or no thinking, no comprehension, no culture, attacking mecha and humans alike…. “Could a spark live in a human? I mean…We have a magnetic field and a kind of processor?”

Mearing paled. “Oh my God. That poor child.”

Kim leaned forward. “Charlotte, please, please. We can’t tell. We can’t tell anyone. It would ruin his life. He’d be taken away. If the military knew—” 

“You forget who is in charge here.” Her voice was hard. 

“Can you protect him? Are you sure? If anybody knew, if _humans knew_ \--”

Silence. Then, “Why wouldn’t Optimus tell me?”

“Does he speculate with you? Unless he’s got a high degree of certainty, he avoids making guesses to me.” 

“Damn. So you think they’re not sure?”

“They’re not sure. They don’t do intuition. What else could it be, though? The timing is pretty damming.” 

“I’ve watched all of the video from Utah. None of the accidental sparklings was speaking Cybertronix. I know what it sounds like, even if I never….” She shook her head. “A vending machine has no processing power to speak of. Even the cellphones….” 

“They’re sure he didn’t learn it. Not the way humans learn languages.” 

“So he’s carrying around a mech soul? Unless—Is he still Rafael at all?”

Kim’s stomach clinched. “Um. He thinks so. His family thinks so. I’ve been talking to him. He is a kid, a human kid. He’s just…got a really big magnetic field and he speaks an extra language…he’s been scanned by everybody…and…they tell me they can’t work out why, and I believe them.” 

“All right, never mind. You’re right, we need to keep attention away from him for now anyway. It doesn’t matter why—if they can’t figure out what’s going on, there is no way our science will do it. This speaking Cybertronix—when he’s sixteen we can hire him as an intern or something and make use of that. But little mech soul or not, he’s still a kid now.” She sighed. “And he’ll want to see Bee. I’ll send someone to go fetch him.” 

Kim closed her eyes. “Thank you.” 

“Have you had this conversation with Bill? With John?”

“Nobody. Humans don’t know this.” 

“Good. Don’t.” 

Kim nodded. 

Mearing was already texting. Kim retrieved the blanket, pulled it around her. 

“Finish the water,” Mearing commanded. 

Kim hoped, desperately, that telling Mearing had been the right thing to do. Optimus trusted her. Bee trusted her. 

Mearing loved Bee. She loved him so much that she had made protecting him her life. And she was smart, smart enough to get herself into the position that _could_ protect him. 

Kim scooted back so she was leaning against the wall and closed her eyes. 

The chair made a squeak as Mearing stood up. “I have to go to China. They are understandably upset about the Decepticon contact. I’ll be back tomorrow if I can. I’ll tell Optimus you’re fine, but you should probably have a vacation.”

Kim sat up. “No, I—” 

“Right. Of course you won’t. This language business-- It would be useful if you could write up your language notes at some point. I’ll get them to a linguist.” 

Kim shook her head. “Actually, there is only one linguist Optimus will work with, and the government won’t budge.” 

“I don’t have time for political bullshit. I told Optimus no, and I’ll say the same to you. I’ll find a linguist who can keep his mind on the job.” 

Kim opened her mouth. Shut it. She was not a linguist. She really did not have the background to analyze an alien language. And someone should. “Okay.” 

*** 

Kim woke—surprised and pleased to have slept—at a little before six Saturday morning. She headed to the DFAC for hot food since the only food the day before had been power bars. Pierre was at a table at the back, eating scrambled eggs with his left hand and tabbing through his tablet with his right. 

“Hey,” Kim said around her tray. “Can I?”

He nodded, wiggling the fork in a friendly way. 

“You’re in early,” Kim said. 

“Never left, I slept on the other active pallet.” 

“That sounds awful,” Kim said. 

“No, it’s okay. You can set it for quite soft. And I was really tired. Anyway, Ratchet wants to work on Jazz’s head today. He needs someone to keep an eye on the other patients and watch the fabricator.”

“How is everybody?”

A grimace. “It was mainly slicing wounds, so. You know. Fairly straight forward.” 

“And… the Decepticons?”

He shook his head. “Nothing since. And they are probably looking for the same geological features we are. It was probably almost a coincidence.” He sighed. “So. This is just how things are.” 

Kim poked at her eggs. 

Pierre leaned forward. “Washington’s angry with our people—not just the ‘Bots, but the NEST guys. They retrieval team didn’t get the Decepticon bodies.” 

Kim put down her fork. “There were Decepticon bodies?”

“Two confirmed spark dispersals.” 

Kim was not supposed to ever be happy anyone died. On the other hand, every Decepticon that died would not be shooting at her friends. Her relief at two more of them dead overshadowed her guilt at not mourning them. 

“Just how annoyed—?”

“Dr. Montgomery? I’m Lt. Petrakis. We had a meeting yesterday—” There was a woman in uniform standing over her; dark hair in a bun, apron on over her t-shirt and camo pants. 

Kim stared blankly for a moment, her brain ticking over slowly. “Oh! Yesterday! You’re in charge of—we had a meeting about the party.” 

“That’s right. Can—”

“I’m so sorry. We’ll reschedule.”

Petrakis sat down one seat over and set a folder of paper in the space between them. “For right now, I’m afraid. I have to get all this food ordered if it’s going to get here by Friday.”

Kim frowned. “Friday?”

“You haven’t checked your email?” 

The email had gone out at 2:17 that morning: Mirage’s tentative agenda had been approved. The party was set for this coming Friday. Dear god. 

“Um,” Kim said. 

“I was wondering if there was any wiggle-room in the menu.” 

“I know. There’s no way we can get all that shipped in—”

“Oh, we can do it. Please. The scale of this budget? Of course. But it’s a little…eclectic.”

“Oh. Right. Um.”

“I was wondering if you were willing to drop the crab cakes, and go with three mini-buffets: Indian, Thai, and Ethiopian. And, of course, a cook-out with steak and potato salad made on site?”

“A cookout?” It was hot in Nevada in August. 

“We’re doing it at Building F—it has a small parking lot on the east side, we’ll set up the barbecue there—folding tables, room for the ‘Bots. Then possibly move into the building for the entertainment.” 

“Um…it will be very hot….” 

“Well, a chunk of the budget is going for an ice wall and fans. Mirage’s idea. You have another email.” 

“Oh. Sure. Yes. If we go over budget, who yells at us?” 

“We won’t go over budget.” 

No, right. Kim found herself nodding weakly. 

Petrakis didn’t draw the meeting out; five minutes later Kim was walking with Pierre back to ‘Bot country. In the infirmary, Kim stayed at the yellow line while Pierre continued on. 

Ratchet had Jazz’s helm disassembled on a table. Parts were attached to energon drips and a monitors. As Pierre approached, Ratchet switched one of his hands back to fingers and gently scooped him up. Pausing only for a very brief scan, Ratchet set Pierre on the main console and turned back to the table with Jazz’s head. 

Not head: no brain, no personality. Sensors and communications equipment. Jazz would be fine. 

The item marked out on Kim’s calendar for this morning was language lesson--Jazz. The last one had been a week ago Wednesday. They had driven out in the early morning to watch the Jasper High Marching Band practice at the football field. He had printed out a poem in Cybertronix and they were going through it line by line, not for grammar, but for how the ideas came together. When Kim had started to get tired, he had shifted to asking questions about human amateur music. 

Neither processors nor memory had been damaged. Jazz would be Jazz, once Ratchet got him together again. 

Kim didn’t recognize the slow mech tread approaching from the Ground Bridge. She stepped to the side, out of the way, before she turned to look. Optimus--trudging instead of his usual quick, easy gait. 

He stopped at the yellow line. If he spoke it was over radio; the only sound was Ratchet working. 

Eventually, Optimus looked down at Kim. “Do you have a few minutes?” he asked softly. 

Kim nodded. 

He hesitated a moment, then lowered a hand to offer her a ride. 

The only person in the main assembly room was Strongarm, hunched over the satellite interface. She didn’t look up, but Kim’s phone buzzed in a greeting glyph. She sent one back. 

In the ‘Bot Commissary, he set Kim on the highest table and regarded her for a long moment. “If you will excuse me, I am overdue for refueling?” It was a question. 

Kim managed a smile. “You’re kidding, right? I eat in front of you almost every day.” 

He made his way to the dispensers at the back of the room, returned with two transparent cubes. The fuller one--five gallons, anyway--had the blue coolant. The other had about two gallons of light pink, translucent energon. 

“The quality looks good,” Kim said. 

“Yes,” he said. “Only on Cybertron itself have we encountered such excellent ore.”

“But...other planets do have it. Energon.” 

He sat down--on one of the lower stools so her position on the table put her level with his shoulder. “Yes. Small amounts that refine to cloudy sludge.” He set the cups down. “It is awkward--rude, to consume and not offer you a portion.” 

Kim nodded. “Some days I almost pass you the pretzels.” 

He downed the coolant first, then took a few small sips of fuel. He set the cube, unemptied, aside. “It upsets you, encountering damaged mecha?” 

Kim was not sure she understood what he was asking. “Injured and suffering people are upsetting, yes. I never--I was never interested in medical anthropology. I guess I’m _doing_ it, so I should probably read up on it.” She tried to take a deep breath. It shook going in. “Yesterday was terrible and I haven’t had a thousand years to get used to it.”

“I am not criticizing.”

“No. Sorry.” 

He lifted the energon cube, made a little bit more of the fluid disappear into his intake.

Kim made sure her bag didn't have anything fragile, set it down flat, sat on it. “So that’s me. What’s got you all knotted up?”

A small shrug. “Everything.”

“Is Washington giving you a hard time about not getting the Decipticon bodies?’

“I told you the other day, about prefabricating the frame and protomatter and loading the programming before implanting the spark. It was a process more brutal, more unhealthy, more limiting, even, than what was done to Fixit. They do not think creatively or proactively. They have difficulty forming interpersonal bonds. Their internal repair is usually inefficient. They are cannon fodder.”

“Oh.” 

“Megatron used to care a great deal about their rights as living beings. Our brothers.” 

Kim bit her lip. “You never made one.” 

“I tried to compromise with those who did. And right now, I am _relieved_ that Jazz and Bee did not encounter a survey party of intelligent, strategically gifted surveyors. I am _relieved_ that neither of those Decepticons had robust enough protoform to support a pulse cannon or large ion blaster.” 

“Yeah. That sucks.” 

He reached for the energon cube, rotated it half a turn. “Kim, the last communication I had from Jazz was an eight hundred kilobite file in English explaining why we should kindle five sparklings.”

“Jazz isn’t suffering. He’s going to be okay.” 

His servo curved around behind her. “Kim, will you come closer?” At her nod, he lifted her up, almost into carrying position, but not quite facing away from him. Kim leaned her shoulder against the transparent panel of his ‘windshield.’ 

“Whatever you’re going to say,” Kim whispered, “it’s okay.” 

“I am not going to say anything. We are just going to comfort one another.” 

Oh. 

Kim shifted so she was flat against him, cheek resting against pseudo-glass. She exhaled slowly, trying to still her swirling brain and nervous embarrassment. She was high off the ground, yes, and her feet were free, but the hands that held her were strong, and they would never be careless or clumsy. 

Kim felt herself sigh. Everything would be fine. Or everything would be terrible. But she would not lose heart. She would not give up. And she would not be coping alone. 

It was a definite warm feeling now. A pressure she had not consciously noticed was...gone. “Optimus,” she whispered, “what are you doing?”

“I am not doing it. We are. The dissonant wave forms are becoming aligned.”

“Huh. This must be really something between mecha.” 

“Because mech fields are stronger and more distinct? But Kim, even among mecha, not all individuals are capable of trusting another deeply or wishing another well in the fullness of all things.” 

_Oh. I trust you deeply. I wish you well in the fullness of all things_. 

She felt more than heard the soft, almost melodic vibration that passed through him. It was a new sound. ”You okay?” 

“A protomatter...adjustment. You...may hear other sounds. A few background combat protocols are about to terminate.” 

“Yeah. Okay. You can relax. We’re okay.” 

_Click. SSSS_. Soft shiver. 

“Still okay?” Kim whispered. 

“I am okay.” 

“You don’t...you don’t need combat protocols running now. You’re home. You’re okay.”

“You do not need to reassure me. Let yourself settle. Know that _you_ are safe, believing it will be enough.”

 _I’m safe. You’re safe. I trust you deeply. I wish you well in the fullness of all things_.

A soft _Ssss_. Optimus stilled, and they fell into silence again. Kim was well supported, but not--fortunately, because how embarrassing would that be?--quite comfortable enough that to fall asleep. 

The urge to stretch, to wiggle, was suddenly urgent and surprising. Before Kim could finish focusing on it, Optimus was lifting her gently away, both servos cupped around her. “Easy, Kim.”

“What--”

“You tried to match my frequency instead of simply harmonizing with it. Your field is not structured that way.”

“Oh. I’ll stop.” 

“You have no control. And I cannot match your frequency.” He set her on the table, sprouted an antenna, scanned her. “Unharmed, I think. If you feel any ill effects, however, tell me.” He lifted the energon cube and drained it in a single, slow pour. When he put the cube down it collapsed into a disk, which he subspaced away. 

“Optimus… Raf said...if I were to suddenly become afraid of mecha, or angry, or disgusted, I should tell you at once.” 

“If you are afflicted with culture shock, I hope you would come to me.” 

“I don’t think that’s what he meant. More like….because you’re alien, not because you have a different culture.” 

“That is odd.” He frowned. “Why did he think this would be an issue?”

Kim shook her head. 

“I would like to speak to Raf. Would you be willing to accompany me?” 

“Sure. If you want. But he won’t tell me. He was here yesterday, right? How did he seem?”

“I was not present.” A pause. A click. A video projected into the air, Raf scrambling up the medical berth and clinging to Bee. “According to Hound his responses were completely appropriate to the situation. He stayed for thirty-seven minutes, until it was time for Bumblebee to enter recharge.”

Kim nodded. “That looked appropriate to me.” 

Optimus sighed, ended the image. “It is regrettable he is so young. In many ways, it would benefit him to be here. But disrupting his significant relationships at this age would be highly detrimental to his development.”

“You’re reading child psychology?”

“Human lifespan development.” 

“Do...sparklings from attachments like that?”

“Not exactly. Some have a very close relationship to one or more others at a very young age. Many do not. As long as there is interaction with other mecha, development will progress normally. I am shortly due at the communications platform, but we can discuss this at another time. ”

Kim winced. “Right. I’ll get out of the way.” 

He lifted her from the table as he rose. “Perhaps it would do you good to take the rest of the day off. You could engage with recreational media.” 

“Yeah. Maybe. I watch a lot less science fiction these days.”

“A new movie has been announced--” He stopped walking and tilted a scanner toward the dark cavern opening out to their left. “Kim, there is a human in the garage.” 

“Is Ironhide there?” 

“Yes.” He turned, starting toward the chamber the ‘Bots used as a bedroom. 

“Then it’s probably Carly, keeping him company.” 

Optimus froze mid-step. “This has happened before?”

“Now that more of the NEST patrols are sleeping in the field… I guess it’s pretty lonely around here.” 

“Ah. I see. No, this individual is male. The phone is assigned to Sergeant Epps.”

Oh good. They made up. “Same thing.”

“He is Army personnel. They are not normally permitted past the commissary door.”

“Oh, heck. You’re not going to report him.”

“I am not. I confess, however, I am somewhat at a loss.” He peered into the darkness. Kim had no idea how much he could see. “How often has Ms. Spenser performed this vigil?”

“I don’t know. Only once that I observed. Look, it’s _Bobby_. And Ironhide is still in charge of base security. This is his area.” 

“You misunderstand my concern.” He didn't clarify, though. Only turned away and asked about the party plans for Friday. He dropped Kim off at the balcony on his way through the assembly area. 

***

It was an itty bitty strip mall: hair dresser, computer repair, shabby mattress store. All of them were closed on Sunday evening, and there was a place to park a semi around back. It was only ten minutes’ walk from Raf’s house.

“How’s Bee?” he asked as Optimus pulled up

“Ratchet has discharged him from the infirmary, but he still has a lot of repair cycles to run. He’s in the garage, sleeping. He said to say ‘hi.’” 

Kim climbed out and came around to sit on the curb, Optimus’ grill on her left and a scraggly mesquite bush behind her. They had stopped to pick up snacks, and Kim held out an orange yogurt push-pop. 

Raf made a hungry little grunt and took it. “Thanks.” 

“Welcome,” Kim said. There was another push-pop in the bag. Kim opened it casually and tried to look reassuring and approachable. 

“Thank you, Rafael,” Optimus said, “for agreeing to see me.” 

Raf sat down beside Kim. He nodded solemnly. “I guess you have some questions.” 

Kim felt her brows go up. She had not expected the small child to be in charge of this conversation. 

“I do. The first of them are, Are you well? and Is there anything we can do for you?”

Raf nibbled around the edge of the push-pop thoughtfully for a moment. “I think I’m mostly okay. I’m a little small. All my brothers were about three inches taller at this age. But I _feel_ okay. And I’m sure every ‘Bot who sees me scans me.” 

“Our understanding of human biology is incomplete.” 

Raf sighed. “Mine, too. But I feel okay.” 

“And your cognition?” Optimus asked gently.

“Weird. But sustainable. I know who I am.”

“Your identity is stable?”

“Yes.” Raf carefully captured the drips on his push-up, then looked at Optimus earnestly. “You could have asked Bee that. What do you want to ask me?”

“You warned Kim that she should tell me if she had intrusive negative thoughts about mecha.” At Raf’s surprised look, he added, “Kim told me, not Hound.” 

“She trusts you. That’s good.” He concentrated on the push-up for a moment. “That means a lot. What are your plans with regard to humans?” 

“They are our allies. I intend to cooperate with them to free the Earth from Decepticon predation. I do not desire to interfere with their self-governance or culture.”

“Do you intend to stay? After the Decepticons are gone?” 

“If the humans will permit it. Yes. I intend for this alliance to continue.” He paused. “I assume Bumblebee has told you this.” 

Raf nodded, stood up and stepped past Kim’s knees so that he was right in front of Optimus’ grill. He reached out and laid his free hand against the metal screen. “Will you tell me the history of Cybertron?” he asked. 

“That...will take approximately three days.”

Raf made a face. “My curfew is in forty-five minutes. You can condense.” 

A tiny shift on his wheels. “Shall I include only confirmed events? Or also those that are conjecture?” 

“Tell me in Cybertronix, and the degree of certainty will be flagged.” 

“As you wish,” Optimus said, and then he began. 

At first, Kim tried to identify words. She knew so few, though, and Optimus was pouring out so many. Quickly overwhelmed, she shifted to just hear individual phonemes. Most phonemes didn’t sound like a human language at all. Unanchored to words, they flowed past her like water. 

Like rain in their individual drops…. 

It was almost hypnotizing. She had never heard more than a few sentences together that weren’t poetry or a song. 

*** 

Kim was bemused afterward. She blinked and mumbled polite ‘good nights’ as Raf gravely thanked Optimus and handed her the empty push-pop shell. They had nearly reached the edge of Jasper before Kim’s thoughts righted themselves enough to become questions. “What the hell was that?” she asked. 

“Can you be more specific?”

And yes, that was fair. It wasn’t a good question. But Kim wasn’t sure she wanted to admit that what she really wanted to know was why Optimus showed more deference to a child then he did heads of state or even Mearing. “Why did he ask you for the history of Cybertron? I’m sure Bee or Jazz or Hound would have answered his questions?”

“I assume he wished to know how I framed our failures--Particularly my own personal ones.” 

Kim choked. “Why would he--Who do you think has been criticizing you to him?” 

“Kim. He has reason to know. And the right to ask an accounting from me.”

Kim opened her mouth. Shut it. What did that even mean? “Do you think he’s been talking to Decepticons?”

“I am certain he has not. Kim, forgive me. I think perhaps...I will not continue this discussion just now.” 

*** 

Optimus turned toward the infirmary instead of the assembly area when they exited the tunnel. He paused for Kim to climb out and then, after transforming, nodded for her to follow. Bee and Drift had both already been released to rest in the garage, but Jazz was still headless on an active pallet and now Ironhide occupied an active pallet. Both of them were wired to the master console. 

“Um. Is something wrong?” Kim whispered.

“No. We are going to admire what Ratchet has decanted.”

“Decanted?”

“From the fabricator.” 

Ratchet, bent over a tiny component, waved them to the shelf on the back wall where the trainees usually sat for lessons. “Admire is the right word. They’re beautiful.” 

“They” appeared to be a milk jug full of grey powder. 

“Will you pop me up?” Kim asked.

Optimus lifted her neatly, so the repurposed milk jug was at eye level. Ironhide’s replacement nanites, obviously. Kim’s breath quickened. “I thought there would be more.” 

“There are over two billion,” Optimus said.

Oh. That was a lot. Kim leaned slightly closer. It looked like dust. “How will Ratchet get the old nanites out of him?” 

“He won’t” Optimus said. “The existing colony is...spiraling. They are destroying one another and disassembling down to raw materials until none are left.”

“He’s off-line, right?” Kim said, trying not to anthropomorphize that into a human immune system self-destructing. And failing. Jeez.

“Oh yes. He is off-line and defragmenting files. And a full...wash cycle. Odd label.” He made a soft, pleased hum. “That will go on for several hours. The energon will fortify his protomatter in preparation for the new colony.” 

“They just… pour it in?”

“Yes.” 

“So this time tomorrow--?”

“No, this time tomorrow, he will still be off-line. The colony must integrate--set up a network and sync with his spark. Wednesday, perhaps.” 

“Okay.” Kim squinted through the jug. Was the mass of nanites moving? Swirling like a _swish_ in liquid? But no, they wouldn’t be _active_ now, would they? Surely it was her imagination…. 

She dreamed about nanites all night, trying to line them up and get them to march in straight rows. Since she didn’t have a microscope to see them, she could never tell if they were behaving. 

She overslept slightly. Not much. She made it to the infirmary in time to see Bobby Epps (gloves and face shield) pour the nanites into Hide’s thorax. They were thick, like honey, except nothing was stuck to the inside of the container when he was done. 

The students were excited, almost giddy. Carly and June, on Ironhide’s telemetry, grinned and nudged each other over numbers Kim couldn’t interpret. Pierre was high-fiving everyone he passed as he put away the equipment Ratchet had been using on Jazz’s head. Dr. Nomura was talking a blue streak, going on and on as he sorted out how nanites worked. 

Ratchet finally got his students settled and ready to go over the procedure for reattaching Jazz’s helm. By then, Kim had to go; she had a meeting with Mirage and that lieutenant from--what, actually? Logistics? Quartermaster? Food service? Party planning, anyway. 

And after that, a meeting with Bill. 

On the way back to ‘Bot country Kim wanted to stop and chat with Fixit, but the Bridge team wasn’t having a good day: Maggie was working the redundant console, while Fixit and another tech were removing the back cover from the main console. Arcee’s purple aspect was dangling her green aspect through an opening in the floor. 

“Is it bad?” Kim whispered to Maggie as she passed. 

“An actual rodent got in the resonator.” 

Ew. “Seriously?”

“Oath,” she said. “We’ve had to cancel all non-emergency travel.”

“Can you catch it?” 

“Oh, it’s dead. We just have to replace the line it shorted out. And Arcee’s scanning everything to make sure there aren’t any more.” 

She was busy. As much as Kim wanted to ask about Fixit, the middle of a rat disaster wasn’t the time. And she needed to hurry or she’d miss Jazz’s procedure. 

That turned out to be almost relaxing to watch. Ratchet had done all of the delicate work himself over the weekend. He turned the procedure over to his students, but all they had to do was attached undamaged lines and wires and strut joints. They didn’t even need face shields or long gloves, because no energon that might damage humans was flowing, and no sealed cavities that might be damaged by moisture or salt were exposed on Jazz. 

There wasn’t a lot of space to maneuver, so they worked in teams of two, one checking the procedure on the tablet while the other made the attachments. While it was a relaxed procedure, it wasn’t a fast one. Every connection had to be verified beforehand and tested after. A couple of times Ratchet stepped in to correct them. 

When they were finished, Ratchet connected a medical cable and ran diagnostics while the humans stretched, guzzled water, and put away tools. And then--catching Kim by surprise because he had expected Jazz would be kept under for hours or days to run repair cycles--Ratchet woke him up. 

Jazz popped out an arm cannon, immediately retracted it, rippled his optics and then reset them several times. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” Ratchet said grumply. “Audio reception working?”

“Wow. I’m… kinda surprised I survived that.” 

Ratchet snorted. “Generous of you, to give my students such a broad sample of injuries to practice on.” 

Jazz produced an unconvincing chuckle. “Well, you know me. I try to be helpful.” 

“I know you’re an idiot.” He turned away, turned back. “Run a complete diagnostic. Download the results to the server. Then you can off-line here to run the repair cycles. Or go to the garage. It doesn’t matter. Whatever. I have to go check out the Ground Bridge.” He stomped off toward the tunnel. 

Jazz, the trainees, and Kim stayed still--like a museum diorama-- until Ratchet had vanished around the tunnel’s curve. Then Carly said, “What the actual hell?” 

Bobby shook his head. “That was grumpy, even for him.” 

Jazz ducked his head, looking abashed. “Prob’ly my fault. No doubt he’s seen the combat video.” He sighed. “Not one of my better days. Hey, don’t look so freaked out. He’ll get over it.” 

The trainees resumed wiping and packing up the equipment, and Kim tucked away her notebook in preparation for climbing down the table she was sitting on. Jazz, to her surprise, turned his helm (supply, easily, you would not guess it had only been reattached a few minutes before) toward Kim. “So, what’d I miss?”

“You’re supposed to be running diagnostics,” she protested. 

“I can do that and talk at the same time. But when I finish, I’m going to have to shut down. So, come on, get to it.” 

She told him about the party plans. She told him about Ironhide’s new nanites. 

“What about Ratchet and the kids?”

“What kids?” Kim asked blankly. Miko hadn’t been in ‘Bot country all week. 

Jazz nodded to the repair trainees,who had just crossed the yellow line on their way out. 

“He called them his students.” 

“Yeah…” 

“This was the glyph message.” Kim’s phone buzzed. It was one of the longest glyph messages. Kim had seen, and about half of the glyphs Kim didn’t recognize at all. The ap included a translation for each icon, though. Ratchet’s grumpiness out loud was nothing compared to the dressing down he’d gotten in the subtext. 

“Yipe,” Kim said sympathetically. “Is he accusing you of wasting the trainees’ time.” 

“That glyph isn’t _trainee_. It’s _student_.”

“Okay,” Kim said. 

“Like Slipstream and Jetstorm are Drift’s students. Like that. When did that happen?” 

“Nothing’s...happened,” Kim said faintly. “You mean, like, he’s adopted them?” 

It was Jazz’s turn to look puzzled. “No. You wouldn’t take someone with immature emotional development as a student. It’s--nothing happened?”

“Well, a couple of weeks ago he let them operate on him. But that’s…. Is there a ceremony or something.”

“Yes, usually. If you have friends to invite, there’s a party.” Left unsaid was that with the war and everything, a mech might not have any friends.

“Well, that definitely didn’t happen this weekend. Maybe it was an error?” 

“Yeah, kiddo. Ratchet makes that kind of error. Gimme a moment.” His optics went wide and then dark. For several long seconds he was still. Then his eyes lit back up. “Oh, yeah. I’ve got no sensor calibration at all. I’m not even going to make it to the garage without bumping into something or stepping on a human.” 

Right. Yes. He had been so much himself, Kim had nearly forgotten how badly he’d been hurt. “Do you need anything? Can I get anything? Are you okay?” 

Jazz grimaced. “I need about nine hours of defragging and sensor calibration--and if I had a gram of energon for every error message I have, I could bathe in it.” 

“I should let you rest, then.” 

“Come see me tomorrow. I’ll be really bored by then, but probably not cleared for duty.” 

“Sure. Thanks.” 

As Kim climbed the steps to the balcony, her phone announced a change of schedule. The evening interview on the mesa was canceled. 

Kim shoved aside the small coil of disappointment. Optimus was the busiest person she knew. He managed to fit the meeting in four or five times a week. He was more than generous with his time. 

Kim was a little behind in fieldnotes anyway. And she could get to bed early--that had been the joke in graduate school: sleep is the drug of choice--or would be, if anybody could actually get some. 

As she entered the hall, though, she heard a thump from one of the rooms that ought to be empty. Kim froze, listening. It came again. It was from the conference room the trainees sometimes used for studying if Ratchet wasn’t available for a lesson. Had they left food in there? If there were mice in the Bridge hardware--

Kim opened the door.

It wasn’t mice. 

It was humans. 

Two humans. 

Dark, muscular arms reaching up. 

A sheet of blond hair hanging down. 

Skin. 

Kim shut the door and retreated until she found herself at the end of the hall in the bathroom. Trying not to think, she washed her hands. Thinking very fast, she washed her face with cold water. 

Blushing. She was blushing. She splashed cold water on her face again. 

She would not think about how beautiful Bobby and Carly were. She would--

She would--

She would collect data on the community. 

She retrieved an apple and an iced tea and went down the hall to Max’s habitat. “Hey? Busy?” Her voice squeaked a little. Kim thought she might still be blushing. 

“Not busy,” Slipstream said cheerfully. He had Max curled up on his leg. “Just watching satellite trajectories.” 

Kim shoved the beanbag chair into shape and sat down. “Jazz just pointed out that I’m really out of the loop on gossip. What’s new?”

Slipstream gave a soft, happy hum. For a mech that spent eighty percent or more of his uptime in the cat habitat, Slipstream knew a whole lot about what happened on the base. “Will Lennox is on the next promotion list. That is not officially announced, however. Do not mention it.” 

“No, of course not.” 

“Energon rationing has been reduced. Everyone’s fuel mix is enriched by three percent.”

“That’s great.” 

“It is so much better than great, I cannot begin to describe it. We have all been on the poorest ratio that was medically safe.” 

“I’m really glad we’re finding so much.” 

“I have just had to explain to Fixit that if we attempt to deploy Max as a deterrent to infesting rodents, she will not scare them away, but eat them. He is distraught.” 

Kim sat up. “Oh, no.” 

“The Bridge team is now ostracizing me for causing this distress.” 

“Oh, dear.”

“I could not be dishonest.” he said plaintively. “Perhaps I should have pointed out that shed fur would not be good for the equipment.” 

Kim--briefly--imagined heading back to the Bridge to help sort out the issue of rodent death. No. It was Maggie’s problem. Instead, she asked. “Heard anything new about Carly and Bobby?” 

“Not since they initiated an amorous relationship.” 

Kim froze. “When did that happen?”

He shrugged. “You are unaware? We are not sure when it initiated. Sometime between August second and August sixth.” 

“Oh.” Over a week. “Wow. I… did not see that coming.” 

“Nor did we. They did not engage in courtship signaling.” 

“Um, what?” Belatedly, Kim realized she was not thinking clearly enough for this conversation. 

“Flirtation,” he clarified. 

“Oh. Yeah. No, there wasn’t any of that…. Wow.” 

Max turned over and extended her head. Slipstream transformed one of his fingers into a brush and and absently began to groom her. “Arcee hypothesizes that they are friends-with-benefits bonding over the stress of working with Ratchet.”

“Oh.” That sort of made sense. They were in a very intense training program. And they didn’t have a lot of time to meet other people. And couldn’t talk about their work to anyone outside of NEST. 

“On the other hand, Bulkhead maintains that they are both crushing over Ironhide and sublimating their frustration with one another.”

“Um.” 

“I am not sure, actually, that complex explanations are necessary. Interest in coietus is a default state for humans.” He paused thoughtfully. “On the other hand, they _are_ both crushing over Ironhide. The physiological markers are unmistakable.” 

Kim realized that at some point she stopped breathing. She started again. “Okay. So.” What was she going to say next? “That’s. Interesting. I assume Ironhide knows.” 

“Obviously. He holds both Sergeant Epps and Engineer Spencer in very high regard. It is unfortunate he cannot share in their physical pleasure. Or that humans cannot interface.” 

“When you say interface ...?” 

“Physically network. Share data directly.” 

“Right, no. Humans don’t have ports.”

“And your data would be analog.” He made a face. “No offense. I don't mean to imply that analog is inferior.” 

“No offense,” she said weakly. “We’re all friendzoned, obviously. Just the way things are.” 

“Blur fell into a crevice in Malta yesterday. He could neither climb nor drive out, and it was daylight at the time, so he had to wait for night for Chromia to come and haul him out. There has been some teasing, but none of it very clever.” 

“Poor Blur.” 

Slipstream had already moved on. “Mirage and Hound are quarreling because Mirage says liturgical music is the most melodic by human standards, and hound has the most experience with that. Well. Except for Prime. But Hound is a spy now and he wants to become an terrestrial biologist and he does not want to sings paons to Primus.” 

“Wow. Dude, you know everything. Can we do anything to help?” 

His optics narrowed. “Absolutely not. It is unwise to interfere with a disagreement between such close friends. They will sort it out.” 

“Right.. Okay.” 

“Director Mearing is bringing her husband Guillermo to the party on Friday. I am curious to meet him. I have heard very good things.” 

“Spouses are coming?” Kim asked, surprise poking through her preoccupation with….whatever Carly and Bobby were doing. 

“Not generally. Only ones that already know. About Autobots.” 

“She told him?” Was that allowed? God. Would Kim ever be able to date? Ever? There was no way she could ever bring anyone home. No way she would be able to talk about her day. Unless she went fishing over with the NEST guys, and that was a bad idea for so many reasons. But Mearing was married. 

Slipstream was chattering on: “-old friend, a beloved friend to Bee for years. Before Mearing got the National Security Director position, Guellermo handled the ‘Bot patents. He had to get out of that, of course. Conflict of interest now that she’s pretty much in charge. He teaches business at a community college in Maryland.”

“Wait. ‘Bot patents. When did he start?” 

“Ninety-two, I think. Bee was annoyed at how slowly the cellular system was growing. The internet was slag in those days, you know. He would have to tap into actual phone lines and do dial-up. So he...sold a couple of rudimentary communications patents to speed things along.” 

“How did I not hear about this?” She had thought the patents were a comparatively new thing, that they’d started sometime after Optimus and the others had arrived four years before. 

Slipstream regarded her seriously. “Well. You have not been here very long. And you sleep a third of the time.”

“Hm. Are you teasing me?” 

“Yes. You should have laughed. It was very funny.” 

“Yeah. It’s been a rough week. I’m a little… fuzzy, processor-wise.”

_~TBC_


	5. Impracticality

Wednesday was a big deal. Wheeljack was bridging down from orbit. There had been (very brief) discussion of just bringing him in ballistically, which would use a lot less power, but once the orbital descent began, he would be a falling duck unable to hide from or dodge Decepticon weapons for several hours. 

Bridging from orbit had its own problems. It would wash the bridge station with cosmic rays and Wheeljack himself was slightly radioactive at the moment, so he’d need to be hosed down with decontaminant before encountering any humans. Or going anywhere. Or touching anything. 

Ratchet and Fixit would handle the Bridge controls, with Maggie exiled to the safety of the balcony. Every mech currently on base--more than usual, since Bulkhead had tweaked his schedule to be there, and Jazz, Bee, and Ironhide were all on restricted duty and couldn’t leave the base--had gathered at the Bridge in a welcome party. The balcony was packed too: Miko had (of course) demanded to be included, Ratchet’s trainees (students?) were exiled out of the way until wheeljack was declared safe for humans, General Morshower had come to give a personal thanks, and Bill was...just there. 

It wasn't a long wait, but it was a wait. Carly and Miko were playing video games on the set on the corner. Dr. Nomura was busy on his tablet. Maggie and the general were staring at the wall-mounted, bot sized screen across the room that displayed the Bridge technical readout and video of the room from above. Bobby, Bill, and Pierre had pulled a table out of on of the empty Cold War offices and were playing cards. 

June was on the phone with her car repairman. He was, by the sound of June’s side of things, talking down to her. Ironic, given that she worked on much more complicated mechanics than he did. 

It was too many people. They were in her space. It was weird. 

Actually--it was really weird. None of them were strangers. Kim got along with all of them --

Humans. It wasn’t too many people in her space, it was too many _humans_. 

She wasn’t antisocial. She had picked a career where she expected to study humans in great, intimate detail. 

Well, hell. 

Kim went and sat on the stairs. This was culture shock obviously. Weird thinking. Uncomfortable thinking. Proof her brain was flexible enough to take on new perspectives and render the ‘normal’ new and strange. 

Culture shock in Boston hadn’t been that bad. There hadn’t been a single new perspective to adapt to. And she had been surrounded in her own culture more or less. 

This was...harder. Like the week she couldn't type in English. And she’s have to be really careful not to do or say something stupid. Or impatient. Or mean. 

She would have to--

“Okay, this is it.” Maggie said. “Wheeljack just locked in his speed and trajectory. Fixit has an aperture lock.” 

Everyone stopped what they were doing and came to the edge to watch. “This is safe, right?” Miko asked. “He can’t get lost. Or hurt. Or anything.” 

“It’s the same bridge you took to Yellowstone on Monday,” Maggie said. “Safe as houses.” 

Miko made a face at her. “What? You know earthquakes knock down houses, right--?” 

On the screen, the Bridge burst to life, a sudden ripple of deep purple igniting in the hoop. 

“That doesn’t look the same,” Morshower murmured, leaning toward Maggie. 

“That’s just the cosmic rays. It doesn’t bother the Bridge.” 

The--thing--that came out of the Bridge breaking hard was vaguely diamond shaped with things sticking out of it. It didn’t have wheels. It was flying. And an undecorated brown. Kim flinched backward, banging her lower back on the step behind her. There had been a mistake. Or an attack. This wasn’t any kind of Autobot--

Except it was. Of course. As the Bridge closed down, Ratchet stepped smoothly forward with a tank of something and began to spray down the new arrival. Encased in mist, it transformed into a bipedal figure, slightly smaller than Ratchet, colors rippling to dark grey and red. It--he-- was either spinning around to get maximum coverage from the mist or doing a little dance. 

Kim remembered to breathe. 

Miko was cheering and high-fiving everyone. 

As the mist cleared, Bulkhead, Jazz, and Fixit came forward and began wiping Wheeljack down with huge shop towels. Bulkhead was very obviously in Wheeljack’s space and overlapping. They were nearly touching as they left the Bridge station and were still within three feet of one another when the welcome party reached the applauding humans at the balcony. 

General Morshower stepped to the edge to formally welcome Wheeljack home and thank him for his necessary and well-executed work in space. He kept it short: although the occasional ‘care package’ of supplies had been Bridged up to him, Wheeljack had been working hard in an inhospitable environment on limited rations for weeks. He needed energon and raw materials and some medical support. 

Most of the ‘Bots (and Miko) went with him into the commissary, but Ratchet collected his students. When he’d refueled, Wheeljack would need his coolant and hydraulic systems adjusted for Earth atmosphere and temperature. 

General Morshower, on his way down the steps, paused beside Kim. “How is the celebration coming along?” 

“The food is set to arrive tomorrow. The human performers have been given four hours’ release time to rehearse Friday morning. Mirage tells me the ‘Bot performance is going to be spectacular.” She realized she was getting his hopes up, and that might not end well. “Mind you, I haven’t heard it. It may be the stuff of nightmares. But it won’t be longer than half an hour.” 

He laughed as he was leaving. Kim wondered if he thought she might be kidding. Then she wondered if she had lost the touch of communicating clearly to humans. 

Bulkhead and Miko hovered all through Wheeljack’s doctor’s appointment, though he repeatedly told them he was fine, and they should go play video games or something. The work on his hydraulics turned out to be painful--and was made worse by Wheeljack’s refusal to accept a medical interface, some kind of debris or waste caked in the system, and his tendency to criticize and kibitz not only the trainees but also Ratchet. 

Miko, it turned out, was a genius at patient distraction. Bulkhead, not so much. He was visibly fretting and uselessly tongue-tied, but Miko had a list of places she’d like to go patrolling to, and they’d be much better with Wheeljack to go with them. Persistent and focused, she kept pulling back his attention from his biting medical commentary.

About forty-five minutes into the procedure, something in Wheeljack’s frame started making elongated squeals and his electropulse variance jumped to six percent, nearly enough to make alarms go off, and definitely enough to make June, who had monitor duty, curse. Wheeljack began to stutter in staccato Cybertronix; words Kim didn’t know but with modifiers indicating anger, contempt, and terror. 

That was when Ratchet _tickety-beeped_ and jacked in for a medical override.

Kim had watched Pierre--once--oversee a medical override. Since he had had to interface through a tablet, it was clumsy and unsubtle and barely adequate to managing pain and soothing autonomic systems. Watching now, though, Kim had a new appreciation for the delicacy of Ratchet’s touch: he shut off pain reception in a moment and slowed down Wheeljack’s processing speed, so that while he was not unconscious, he was no longer panicking, and remarkably easy to keep distracted. 

Kim stayed out of the way and watched. She watched Ratchet, servos quick and frequently transforming to different tools as he rooted around in Wheeljack’s innards. She watched the trainees, following instructions without hesitation, always exactly where Ratchet wanted them to be, even when he hadn’t said so. She watched Miko, straddling a berth support, one hand on Wheeljack’s helm, prattling on, pausing frequently to make him answer her. She watched Bulkhead, retreated to the corner now, pensively popping out a small arm-cannon and then putting it away. 

Kim watched. And took notes. And remembered her purpose. 

*** 

Kim set up the chair in the shade and got out her supper. It was just a tuna kit and a water bottle; there hadn’t been time for anything more elaborate. 

Optimus was parked in the slanted sunlight, still on a conference call. It went long--Kim was scraping up the last of the tuna when he transformed to root and resettled on the mesa in a crouch, joints at all angles. It was a position more common in mecha who had just arrived on Earth and hadn’t conformed, yet, to human expectations of sitting. “Thank you for waiting.” 

Kim tucked her dinner detritus back into her bag. “De nada. Is everything all right?” 

He glanced away. After a moment he said, “In English, vague phrasing is used to indicate that an interlocutor may answer as vaguely or specifically--or even dishonestly--as he wishes.”

“Well...yes.” Kim said. “But vagueness is not a virtue in Cybertronix. So. How did you hear that?” 

“I know provocation was not intended.” 

Kim cringed, ploughed on gamely: “How bad was it?” 

“In context, a gambit to call attention to the complete list of problems I have not satisfactorily resolved.” 

“That’s… horrible. All the problems are your fault?” 

“In context, yes. I am Prime. It is a conversational gambit that would be deployed by a rival in an attempt to humiliate me.” 

For a moment, Kim’s mouth didn’t work. “Yeah. Right,” she said bitterly. “I’m a rival and I want to see you brought low.” 

He emitted an elongated thrum (that definitely wasn’t a phoneme) and shifted his frame so that he was slightly closer to her. “Interesting. In some ways tonal sarcasm is more effective than glyph subtext for conveying irony. It conveys attitude very viscerally.” 

Kim turned that over several times. “What concept could you possibly be glossing as _visceral_? I didn’t think fuel systems got into that kind of metaphor. And you don’t do intuition.” 

“I was using it to convey protoform resonance.” He said a word in Cybertronix. 

“Not spark resonance,” she clarified. 

“The protoform is also physically responsive to emotion. Kim. You did not know? But you have heard us cry. You have heard me cry.” 

“That is a protoform sound.” And oh, this was embarrassing. It wasn’t a vocal sound. Where had she thought it had come from? 

“A protoform vibration, yes.” 

Kim clicked her tongue. “Wow. That is some pretty dense biocentrism on my part. Wait. That sound Bee makes for Raf and Mearing. That’s...a protoform happy sound.” 

“Yes, Kim.” 

“Well...dang.” 

“Perhaps I should have told you.” He chuckled softly, “I took it for granted.” 

“That’s why you live in the village. Hm. There’s something I’ve been thinking about.” 

“I quiver to contemplate,” he said with warm amusement. 

“Excellent inflection there.” 

“Thank you. What is your question?”

“It’s not a question. It’s--look, NEST is military. And they stay on their side of things mostly. I mean they watch TV with you guys. Or then did when we weren’t running patrols so heavily. And play video games sometimes. But. It’s a big gap. Between the ‘Bots and regular human life.” 

“I see no remedy. We cannot move to town.” 

“Carly, Maggie, and Pierre don’t have ties to the military. They are currently employed by our government. Their positions could be changed. They could work for you. Like me.” 

“They could. To what purpose?” 

“To offer them living space in the Cold War hallway.” 

“I see. Do you miss the company of other humans.” 

Kim snorted. “No. I like having you guys all to myself. But. Look, is Ironhide going to be able to grow his sensory busses back? Because if he is not...It’s just, humans sleep an awful lot. But it would be easier, for Carly at least, to nap in the garage if there is a room on site she can come back to.” 

Optimus didn’t answer. 

“And. And Pierre shouldn’t have to sleep in the infirmary when he stays late. And. What _is_ going on with Ratchet and the trainees? I’ve been told he is referring to them as his students, in the formal way, and that changes things. Has he--? I mean--Um?”

“Ratchet’s change in description and pronouns does indicate that he has recognized a profound commitment on their part and has taken responsibility for them. I have no intention of indicating that I have noticed.”

“Right. No. But--it’s supposed to be formal, right?”

“Yes. But interacting with humans is complicated. Kim. Do you remember our first meeting here? On the mesa?”

“Yeah…?”

“You told me our relationship would be intimate and emotionally fraught, that we would be learning difficult things, and that some of the things I needed to learn, you accepted responsibility for teaching me.” 

“Yeah….Oh, no.” 

“No, in fact. You did not go on to ask for my obedience. Which I could not have given you.” 

Kim breathed in. Out. 

“As for expanding the human accommodations, it is an excellent idea. Ultimately, yes, our communities must not be segregated. Especially since--Kim what I am about to tell you must be kept secret from other humans until it is accomplished. I cannot seek permission, or give the appearance of seeking permission.” 

Overwhelmed--as usual--but forging ahead, Kim nodded. “Okay. Alien head of state. You don’t need permission. For what?” 

“I will kindle two sparklings after the celebration Friday night.” 

“Two,” she breathed. 

“If the Matrix will open for me, yes. I will ask.” 

“That’s. Wow.” 

“Very much wow.” 

“Do I say ‘congratulations’ or is it too soon?”

“You say, ‘free flow of energon’ or ‘may Primus bless your undertaking.’ ‘Until all are One’ is also appropriate.” 

Kim picked the one she understood the best. “Free flow of energon, my friend.” 

***

The schedule had been clear Thursday morning until ten, when Ratchet had scheduled Ironhide, then Jazz for diagnostics. After that another party-planning meeting, a meeting with Bill in the FBI corridor, and then an hour with Miko and Wheeljack because Bulkhead was going to be with Optimus doing an official thing in Japan, and Kim wanted to watch Miko and Wheeljack interact. Then she had an interview with Springer and, since Optimus would still be in Japan, dinner with Maggie and Fixit. 

A busy day, but she could sleep late. She was looking forward to it. It made the persistent, polite knocking on her door at 7:33 a particular disappointment. 

The knock sounded human, so Kim pulled on a pair of semi-clean shorts to accompany the not-quite-long enough T-shirt she had slept in and opened the door.

The hallway was crowded. Kim did a tally: Maggie, Carly, Pierre, Fixit. 

“What?” Kim said. 

“We got the email.” 

“What email?”

Maggie handed Kim a phone. The email had gone out at 2:13 this morning, announcing a personnel change. Different pay account. Different direct report. 

Maggie’s supervisor was now Kimberly Montgomery. 

“Oh. Well. That was...fast.”

“Why are you my boss, mate?” Maggie asked worriedly. 

Hell. 

“Nobody’s job has changed, of course I’m not your boss, it’s just--” That you’re being asked to live in ‘Bot country to give the babies interaction with civilian humans. Which was a thing she could not tell yet. “Fixit, just comm Prime and ask--”

“He is recharging. So is Jazz. Springer is unaware of the reason for the change in status.” 

“Okay. Everybody in. Have a seat--” No place to sit, of course. Not enough chairs. “Anybody want some tea?” 

“How bad is it?” Pierre asked. 

“It’s not _bad_. It’s just--you can’t live here if you work for the government. Well. If you report to government employees.”

“When you say, ‘live here,’ what exactly do you mean?” Carly asked. 

“Oh. Well. Maybe not full time. Heh. I mean, the rooms are small. And not very nice. And the bathroom sucks.” Kim laughed. No college dorm or cheap apartment was even close to being as ancient and dingy as this hallway. “But you can’t keep sleeping on active pallets! And not having a change of clothing when you stay late. And--” 

“Is it true?” Pierre asked. 

“Well, obviously. He should have asked you first--”

“Why didn’t he?” Maggie asked. 

Kim cringed. _Well, the thing is, he seems to be nesting. The giant alien war-maching/pope is broody, and he’s putting his house in order. Or maybe lining up babysitters._ Kim swallowed. “We only started talking about it yesterday evening….” 

A surprised quiet settled on the room. After a long moment, Carly said, “But, like, after business hours? Did he just...oh. Yes, I guess he did.” 

“Just like that,” Maggie said. 

Pierre stood up and then leaned down to kiss Kim on each cheek. “Thank you,” he murmured. 

Fixit said, “In what way are the evacuation and sanitation facilities lacking.” 

“They’re not. It’s fine. All the plumbing works.” 

Carly made a face and nudged him with her elbow. “Google ‘fantastic bathroom’ and run an analysis on the first two hundred images. Then go look at our bathroom again.” 

Kim buried her face in her hands. 

They spent forty-five minutes looking at the empty offices on the first floor and the barracks rooms upstairs. Kim trailed at the back of the group, trying not to regret the idea of humans in her space all the time. 

They were nice people. 

The ‘Bots needed humans in their in their community. 

Rooms and furniture and paint. Should the conference room be turned into a lounge? “No,” Kim said. “We have the balcony. We can make that nicer if we want.” Cooking facilities? It was a long walk to the DFAC. “God, I’d commit murder for a stove.” 

That got her a worried look from Fixit, until Maggie whispered, “Figure of speech, Possum.” 

Maggie and Fixit had to report to the Bridge but there was still time, before Pierre and Carly were scheduled to be in the infirmary, to go to the DFAC for breakfast. Kim was awake. She threw on a T-shirt and real shoes and headed out with them. 

The assembly area was empty, even the screens gone dark. Which was odd, because it was after eight. 

The infirmary did have some activity. Springer and Strongarm were there--it took a moment to identify them because they were in the box forms, like they were packed up for shipping...or apologizing? They sat there in the middle of the floor like strays from a home appliance showroom and Kim stumbled to a halt. The other three humans stopped as well, to see what she was staring at. 

Maggie leaned over to Fixit and whispered, “What’s going on? Are they okay?” 

Fixit hummed happily. “Oh, yes. They are fine.”

Ratchet came up beside them, a five gallon plastic bucket in each hand. He _chirrp--ik_ ed encouragingly. Kim took a step forward, remembered the yellow line was there as much for safety as to keep people from annoying Ratchet, and froze. 

First Springer and then Strongarm transformed--out not up, unfolding like flowers. Kim’s breath caught. _Seriously? They were going to--?_

And then they did: gleaming, sparkling rainbow protomatter flowed upward like a fern uncoiling. The sprouting wasn’t nearly as fast or as full as it had been during the communion after Cliffjumper’s funeral, but it was still breathtaking. 

And a little nerve wracking, to see protomatter in the open air. Jeez. 

Ratchet held out a bucket to Springer. A bulge of protomatter spindled out, stretched away from the main mass, and dropped into the bucket with a plop. 

Kim felt slightly sick. 

Ratchet was already offering the other bucket to Strongarm. She didn't make as tidy a job of it; her sparkling silver tentacle shivered and writhed as glittering bits dropped off into the bucket with soft splats. 

Springer was already boxing back up, the transformation continuing until he was in root form. 

Fixit looked around guilty and said, “I have been instructed to inform you that this procedure is nothing to be concerned about. Strongarm and Springer are in excellent health. Do not worry.” 

“They’re donating undifferentiated protomatter,” Carly whispered. Her eyes widened. “For who?”

“For _whom_ ,” Fixit corrected. “I am at a loss as to how to answer that.”

“Hush,” Kim said. Surely Carly knew that mecha didn’t transplant protomatter. It wasn’t like blood. Ratchet had been appalled at the suggestion when June asked about it...when? weeks ago? If a mecha lost significant protomatter you reduced system demands until it grew back. Or, if things were really bad, grew some more from scratch in the molecular assembler. That didn’t always work though, and it took weeks, and the assembler was already occupied anyway--

“Oh, my god,” Carly whispered, staring in horror at the buckets Ratched was carrying back to a table. 

Kim caught her by the shoulders and turned her so her back was to the infirmary. “No. Those are not _for_ anybody. They couldn’t be anyway. You know it wouldn’t work. They are for an experiment Optimus ordered.” kIm wasn’t sure. Not completely. But protomatter was one of the things needed to gestate a spark and there wasn’t any lying around and there wasn’t time to make any by Friday. “You’ll probably get to hear all about it next week. Everybody’s fine.” 

She took a deep breath. “They’re fine. Right. I checked Ironhide’s telemetry last night. And Jazz.” 

Kim looked over Carly’s shoulder. Strongarm was transforming back, her donation apparently finished. “It’s all good,” Kim said. 

“Right. Everybody is okay.” 

Kim took Carly’s arm and steered her toward the tunnel. “I’m starving. It’s a long walk.” 

“What was that...sparkly stuff exactly?” Maggie asked. 

“Protomatter. It’s like...internal organs. Or bone marrow.” Pierre looked over his shoulder. He looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Guts.” 

Maggie glanced at Fixit. “So... _you_ have…”

“Not quite a hundred kilograms.” He said, sounding slightly abashed “I am not nearly as robust as the war frames.” 

Kim’s phone announced multiple glyphs: _respect_ from Ratchet, Fixit, and Strongarm. She smiled to herself. 

*** 

It turned out that what Miko wanted to do with Wheeljack was introduce him to rock music. By playing it on the electric guitar Bulkhead had bought for her. And Wheeljack--sort of obnoxious in all of the interactions Kim had had or observed with him--lapped it up. He seemed completely enthralled by the random noises Miko evoked from what appeared to be a normal and well-functioning musical instrument. 

Well. Maybe it sounded good to mecha? It wasn’t like Kim was an expert in alien musical genres. 

Or maybe weeks in space had left him lonely?

Abruptly, Wheeljack flicked out a finger and unplugged the amp. “Hey!” Miko protested. 

Into the ear-ringing quiet left by the sudden absence of rhythmless rock music the combat alarms began to blat. 

“Take care of her,” Wheeljack growled before leaping away and transforming. His tires were rolling before they hit the floor. 

“What’s going on?” Miko shouted over the noise. 

Kim sighed. “Decepticons.” 

“Really? Cool! Can we watch?” The last word hung out over a cliff of silence--the alarm had cut off. 

Kim was already looking at her phone. It said, “ _Standby_.” 

That was...unusual. 

Kim thumbed to the schedule. Everything was suspended. Okay. Kim sat down on the battered couch, still clutching the phone. “We don’t seem to have combat yet. If we do...they might need an extra pair of hands in the infirmary. Maybe not. The whole crew is still there. We’ll just play some video games while we wait. Okay?” 

“But I want--”

“Right now we need to be out of the way.” With thick, sluggish fingers, Kim texted “standing by” to Ratchet. “We’ll see what happens.” 

Of course it was some kind of driving game. And, of course, Kim lost three times quickly. 

In the assembly area below, Jazz settled himself before the satellite station and Ironhide dropped into alt at the foot of the stairs. Kim looked at the ‘Bots, motioned Miko to wait, and glyphed: _generalized query._

Immediately, Ironhide transformed, and Kim hurried to the edge. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. Or. I just--what’s going on?” 

“No interruption,” he said. “Nothing to do right now but wait.” 

“For what?” 

“A spaceship dropped out of subspace about two million miles out. Depending on how fast it sheds velocity, it will make orbit sometime tomorrow afternoon, maybe tomorrow evening. So no rush. We can’t set a strategy until we get a better idea of the orbital insertion.” 

“Decepticons?” Kim breathed. 

“Nice pessimism there. Keep that.” His face plating was pretty un-human, but his smile was convincingly avuncular. “But nah. Really solid clearance codes. It’s ours. That’s where the good news ends, though. Ship’s damaged… no cloak, not much shielding, no atmospheric engine.”

Kim swallowed. “Cosmos...crashed and lived.” Sort of. But ‘in stasis and waiting for parts’ wasn’t ‘dead.’ Right? 

“The ship isn’t a… person. It’s like...clothing. The pilot jacks in and wears it. Like a tank. Understand? We don’t have to save the ship. The problem is saving the passengers. Right now the sun is behind them, but as soon as they make orbit, the _Nemesis_ will see them.”

“Oh.” Kim glanced upwards. The distant, dark, ceiling of the old missile silo was unhelpful. 

“Jazz is running calculations now: if we can bring the ship in at a low enough orbit to put it in range of human weapons, we might be able to turn it from a target to a trap. If the Nemesis attacks, it will be visible.”

“Wow. That sounds good.” 

“Lotta variables, though. And none of ‘em matter if we can’t get the right orbital insertion.”

“Do humans have weapons that go that high?” 

“You have seven kinds of ICBM that will do the job.”

Kim goggled. “Those carry nuclear warheads.” 

He waved a hand dismissively. “Too sloppy. So far, we’ve only gotten about seventy converted to ion bomb. More would have been better, but Prime won’t let the humans make the weapons themselves. And seventy might be enough to bring the Nemesis down, but they’re spread out on three continents, so the best we can hope for is damage to the shields and cloak. But if we get that much, we can open a Bridge and send a strike team.” 

“Shit,” Kim gasped. A strike team. A boarding party. 

“The next problem will be getting the passengers out of orbit. The ship isn’t big enough to open a Bridge inside it. The calculations would be” he paused, optics shifting, “delicate for that anyway.”

“Right,” Kim agreed numbly. “It’s moving.” 

“Everything is moving,” Ironhide said, giving Kim a funny look. “But a course correction would cause a hull breach. You all right, there?” 

“Yeah. Of course.” 

“Anyway, next coupla’ hours, we’re just gathering,” another odd pause, “equipment and doin’ math.” 

“‘Hide, are you doing math now?”

“They’re going to have to abandon that ship. I’m looking for path to bring them ballistic.” 

Miko popped up. “Ooo. Hey! Are the humans going to help attack the _Nemesis_? Who gets to go into space?”

Ironhide looked at her sternly. “Even if the Nemesis is running an atmosphere that humans...can breathe, it won’t be at a concentration to sustain human life.”

Miko visibly deflated. 

“Thank you,” Kim murmured. 

Ironhide passed a finger lightly over Kim’s hair. It was a gesture reminiscent of Slipstream petting Max. “Your human is getting fractious. Get her some food. Usually calms ‘em right down.” 

“Yeah. Thanks. Good idea.”

***

Everyone agreed that the strategy had been brilliant. The orbital entry and descent path of the small ship maximized time in range of the modified ICBMs. A stockpile of ‘space grenades’ (Kim did ask, but she didn’t understand the explanation) was assembled in the Bridge alcove to provide cover in the likely event the passengers and crew would need to abandon ship. It wasn’t a fool-proof plan, but it was good. Everyone agreed.

At two in the morning, while the incoming Autobot ship was just passing the Moons’ orbit, the Decepticon ship _Nemesis_ decloaked right in front of it, and opened fire.

Fixit, Strongarm, and Windblade had been on station at the Bridge. The brilliant strategy now in the pit, they had thrown together a new one—while Fixit did the gate calculations, Windblade gathered up the grenades. She dove through in root form—transit was slightly less vulnerable to errors in alt, but no time—and adapted to atmosphere, not space. 

The Bridge opened just to one side of the plain formed by the _Nemesis_ and its target, in a perfect position for Windblade to toss her payload at the _Nemesis_ and dart back into the Bridge. By the time they had the second Bridge calculated and opened, Strongarm had fetched an ion bomb. Windblade snatched it from her and made another trip.

On her second return, Windblade had collapsed from a burst hydraulic line. Strongarm had demanded to take her place, but she didn’t have the algorithms loaded for space navigation, and Fixit had refused to send her on a suicide mission.

It didn’t matter anyway. The Nemesis was retreating. Cloaked again, but leaking radio emissions from a damaged communications array, it was trackable. Vulnerable. Running.

It was out of reach of every ICBM, and likely to stay that way. 

When Kim came out onto the balcony several hours after the skirmish, the _Nemesis_ had been downgraded on the priority list. The worry that had everyone’s processors in a knot now was that the incoming allies had no landing thrustors. At all. And now that everyone knew where the Decepticons were, they could risk more than short, shielded communications, and it turned out that three of the five mecha on board didn’t have enough armor mass to survive a fast ballistic entry.

The balcony was crowded with military personnel, including an extra general Kim didn’t recognize. He was standing at the railing, talking to Springer. “We can get the missiles here, that’s not the problem. We can have them packed up and ready to Bridge in two hours or less. But I’ve seen the specifications on the _Nemesis_ , and they won’t even dent the shields.”

Maggie was explaining to two very prim-looking guys in suits why you couldn’t just pack up a Bridge and move it somewhere else in less then six days. She was so sweetly, innocently condescending that Kim shivered—and wondered what the suits had done to deserve it.

Jazz and Captain Lennox were brainstorming over the space programs of Russia and China, hoping for an orbital that could retrieve the smaller passengers. China could launch in a few hours, but was much better at getting things into orbit than bring cargo down, and Lennox was horrified enough for his voice to carry.

Russia could launch a Soyuz in two days. Its payload capacity could hold two of the vulnerable mecha and bring them safely to Earth. Only two. And even then, they would have to find a way to hold the Nemesis off for sixty hours.

The United States didn’t have a space craft that could help here. Six months into the NEST alliance, NASA had scrapped its space shuttle replacement to redesign the craft to take advantage of the technology the Autobots were trading. It would be another three years before it was ready.

Optimus was pacing, which Kim had not seen before.

Everything was dangerous. Leave the ship in orbit too long, and the Nemesis would have time to recover and return. Bring the ship down whole, and it would crash, killing the passengers anyway and leaving a crater half a mile across. Try to drop the passengers on a slow path, and it would take ten hours: again, time for the Decepticons to attack—and it would only take a single shot to end each of the unprotected mecha. If they took the fast path down, three of the passengers would burn up in the atmosphere.

“It doesn’t look great,” Bill said. “Earth is not equipped to take the battle to space. Even if they make that call and send Soyuz for two… If we use our technology to interfere, will anything we put in space be safe again?”

Kim had emptied out Miko’s fridge when she came onto the balcony. Now she brought out all her soda and bottles of tea and was handing them around. Her little supply wouldn’t last very long. Humans needed to eat--

Oh. Damn.

She pulled out her phone and tapped up the schedule. There it was: the party was cancelled. She had forgotten all about it. But she should probably find that lieutenant and talk about contingency plans. Optimus would not abandon his event, though it might be delayed.

Maybe they just shouldn’t schedule parties.

“You okay?” Bill asked.

Kim swallowed. “Yeah?”

“Hmp. Yeah. In over our heads. When in doubt, keep your mouth shut and stay calm.” He cast a worried look at Lennox and Jazz, who were looking at (maybe—probably) descent path simulations on one of the big screens.

Kim tried to nod in a knowing way. “Right.”

Kim tabbed over to the glyph app. There was too much glyph traffic to follow any of it. The mood showed urgency, anxiety, and short tempers. Kim bit her lower lip.

They had almost made it. They were _so close_ to Earth.

General Morshower and the other general were now arguing very quietly in the corner.

Arcee and Blur had both sprouted weapons, and they were standing back to back, so they were probably also arguing.

She noticed the drop in human voices first. She looked around. Everyone had stopped talking and were fiddling with paper or staring at their phones. The mecha in the assembly area were standing apart from one another. Glyph traffic had dropped to almost nothing.

Ironhide, limping on his bad knee, planted himself in the path of Prime’s pacing and started to transform. Optimus trilled a very formal negation at him, and Ironhide straightened, folding his arms instead. “I am sorry. We have no alternatives to recommend.”

Optimus nodded, turned slowly to glance at the humans on the balcony. “Then we bring them down by bridge.”

Heavily, General Morshower stepped to the rail. “I’m sorry. You know we can’t allow that. I am sorry—”

“General, I have no intention of bridging unvetted mecha into this base. My scanners are excellent, as are my firewalls. I will go up and vet them myself.”

Softly, Fowler cursed. Chromia, Ironhide, and Jazz visibly flinched. Springer stepped forward. “I have an acceptable alt. I will accompany you.”

That formal negation, again.

Bulkhead waved a hand sheepishly. “I still have the Wrecker mods for space operations. It’s my job anyway.”

So, it turned out there were levels to preparation for space. If you were staying for weeks like Wheeljack had, the modifications were surgical and involved lots of fluid and changes in valves, and special heaters and heat dispersal systems.

If you were going up for an hour or two--and you had the propulsion that let you move in space and the software to let you navigate—you could just swap out your hydraulic fluid, put an expensive additive in your lubricant, and reset your valves so expanding air didn’t explosively decompress joints or cable junctions. Temperature regulation would be done by protomatter; uncomfortable, but more or less safe. 

The preparation took about twenty minutes.

NORAD was still tracking the _Nemesis_. When the Earth was blocking the two ships, Optimus and Bulkhead would Bridge up, scan and test the passengers, and then bring them back through the bridge.

Piece of cake.

Easy peasy.

Ratchet, tense and grumpy, chased the humans out of ‘Bot country and well past the Bridge alcove. Even Ratchet’s trainees, even Maggie and the other Bridge techs. When they came back the Mecha (like Wheeljack) would have to be checked for radiation. Also (unlike Wheeljack) there might be other contaminants. _Also_ , bringing stuff through from orbit was delicate: Fixit could manage the calculations from his end, but if any of the new ‘Bots made a mistake in their trajectory, they might come out at an unexpected angle. Or at a three hundred miles an hour.

Kim didn’t go with the others. She didn’t ask permission to stay; she just went meekly into the Cold War hallway and shut the door. It was where she lived, after all.

Since all the bottled tea was gone, Kim made hot tea in the microwave. She went down the hall to Max’s room. Slipstream was spherical and silent, surely tapped into the satellite network. Jetstorm—unusually—was with him. He had Max on his leg and was dangling a feather above her paws.

“Hey,” Kim said.

Without dislodging the cat, Jetstorm bowed at the waist. “Hey,” he replied seriously.

Max looked at Kim and meowed hopefully.

“She is to have no more treats,” Jetstorm said. “She is a glutton.”

Kim swallowed a surprised laugh. “You are a conscientious cat sitter.”

“It is not as difficult as I expected.”

Since Slipstream was using the beanbag chair, Kim settled on the floor. “How dangerous is it? What Prime and Bulkhead are doing?”

Jetstorm made a noncommittal noise. “It’s probably not a trap. Their recognition codes are very good. Bulkhead used to build space stations; he can manage the arrivals even if they aren’t up to maneuvering in microgravity. And the Prime—there is no chance of breaching his firewalls, not with the Matrix of Wisdom in there.”

Kim folded up and rested her forehead on her knees. “I always thought it would be the coolest, to go to space….” she said.

Jetstorm made a face. “It’s very dull. You aren’t missing much.”

Jetstorm was not as voluble as Slipstream. He didn’t gossip or go into detail. When Optimus and Bulkhead bridged out, he reported that. Kim set her phone beside her so she could watch it. No messages. No calendar changes.

_This sucks._

A half hour passed. The gate disgorged a new arrival carrying a load of supplies. He was whisked away by Ratchet for an exam.

A few minutes later Bulkhead came through—carrying two of the passengers—in stasis, not under their own power. And then Optimus came through, carrying two more.

Kim scooted over against the wall and closed her eyes. Max came and sat in her lap.

The phone beeped; calendar change. Kim tapped the screen. The party was rescheduled for tomorrow night.

“They just detonated the transport,” Jetstorm said. “No bits larger than five meters across. Good odds on burning up in the atmosphere.” He sounded very satisfied.

“Yay,” Kim said. “Why is that good?”

“We can’t leave it for the Decepticons.”

“Right. Right.” 

It was another hour before humans were let back into mech territory. Four of the new arrivals were in the infirmary, frozen and silent on the berths. Three of them were small, only a little more than human-size. One was large, maybe as large as Springer. They were all hooked to monitors that showed no processor activity.

They weren’t undergoing repairs. No one was doing anything to them. Ratchet stared at readouts—but didn’t jack in himself to any of the patients. The trainees just stood around, not doing anything, not fetching anything, not fixing anything.

Kim sidled up to June. “Yo,” she said.

June tried to smile. “Hi,” she said.

“What’s going on?”

“Some kind of cognitive problem.” She shrugged. “Maybe contagious? Anyway, we’re remotely mapping their memories and firmware. Ratchet won’t explain.”

“Oh. When you say contagious….?”

Walking slowly because she was watching spark graphs on a tablet, Carly joined them. “It would take a hardline interface to spread. A virus, I guess? Ratchet said they share data, so they might all have it. It’s all way past us, at this point. But after the other new guy finishes at the washracks and getting some energon we get to observe his check-up?”

Kim frowned. “You can’t help with him either?”

“Well,” June said, “he’s never seen humans before. We probably shouldn’t introduce ourselves by poking around in his innards.”

It was Chromia who walked the ‘new guy’ to the infirmary. She introduced him as ‘Brawn.’ He was about Bumblebee’s height, but stockier. His paint job was mustard yellow, dark green, and light blue, which was an even worse combination than Kim would have thought before she’d seen it.

He was eerily expressionless and stiff. He barely looked at the humans when he was introduced. To each of them he responded “Charmed, I’m sure,” in a snoot British accent.

Kim, last in line, gave interaction another try: “So what is your name in Cybertronix?”

“อ4* क.” He said. “It means ‘Brawn.’”

He can’t help it, Kim thought. The language pack is just a list of words and grammar and rules. She smiled gamely. “Welcome to Earth.”

Ratchet hooked him into the monitors and began the exam. It was, as far as Kim could tell, unremarkable, except for the students standing on the shelf instead of on the berth or Ratchet’s rolling tray.

There wasn’t room to pace on the shelf. Kim wished there were. It was hard to stand still.

Perhaps she should go look at the preparations for tomorrow’s party—

Optimus came into the infirmary, unhurried, calm. He spoke to Brawn—not in English. He checked the monitors tracking the other four. Then he came to the shelf. “Nurse Darby, Ratchet informs me you have replaced a coolant line before?”

“Yes, I—oh. Right.” She glanced at Pierre. He and Carly rushed off for the cupboards. “I’m afraid there aren’t any more beds, Sir. As it is, we have two of the new minicons doubled up.”

“It is a minor procedure. I can do it standing with you on a slightly higher table. And they are not minicons. They are mechin.”

Kim swallowed hard and opened up her phone. She glyphed Optimus a time confirmation and the casual request for a status report she herself most often received. His answer was a line of abridged telemetry: his temperature, which was ninety-three degrees Fahrenheit. Not…dangerous.

Softly, Kim said “Are you settled enough to shut down inessential processes?”

“Not quite. Close proximity to unarmed humans will help. The failsafes will trigger.”

“You’re running combat protocols.”

“Yes.”

Damn. That was heat he didn’t need to be making. “Okay.” Kim stepped closer, turned slowly to put her back to him. “We’re in the infirmary. You don’t need combat protocols here. We’re fine. I have my primary sensors facing away from you.”

“You find this position unsatisfying.”

“It’s all good.” Quietly, quietly. “There is no threat here. Stand down.” She could hear his fans, trying to disperse the built-up heat. If he couldn’t circulate coolant, the fans wouldn’t actually help. “It’s okay.”

A couple of clicks. A snap.

Kim leaned slightly, resting her back against his carapace. “It’s okay,” she said again.

“Nurse Darby is ready,” he said. “We must move.”

“Pop me over?”

“Thank you.” A large hand curled gently around her. “Party tomorrow.” She couldn’t tell if the cheerfulness was genuine.

“Party tomorrow. The food should still be good. Maybe not the ice. Um. You up to, you know, a big deal? Was there other damage from the space? If tomorrow is too soon—”

“The pressure damage is minor. Except for my coolant system, trivial.”

He set Kim on the table and retracted the armor on his upper abdomen. Pierre held out a tablet with a diagram. June was pulling gloves on—short gloves, since coolant was toxic if you ingested it, but not nearly as hazardous as energon.

Kim turned to look out across the infirmary, facing a different direction from Optimus, making sure she was ‘looking’ at the parts of the room he wasn’t. Even though he could monitor all directions. Even though she was unarmed. Hopefully the social here was more important then the actual tactical considerations. 

Not that there should _be_ tactical considerations in the infirmary.

Kim glanced at the four unconscious newcomers. Retrieved from space alive—but this was not a complete win. Whatever was wrong with them—

Carly was cleaning spilled coolant out of Optimus with a wetvac. Kim kept one hand on smooth plating and didn’t look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the week off. I was out of town last weekend and the weekday part was busy.
> 
> I dedicate this chapter to Maggie the dog, a champion of interspecies cooperation.


	6. Potentiality

Kim spent all Saturday morning setting up folding chairs and tables. It was hot, and she sweated a lot. She also worried a lot; the food was probably fine in the DFAC’s industrial freezers, but how grumpy was the staff going to be, having to do this on a Saturday? And the guests? Some of them had brought their families to town, they liked not working weekends. And Keller had to be in Washington, he wasn’t coming. Shit.

And Kim had been supposed to watch the mecha rehearse on Thursday. What were they singing? Mirage promised no songs over ten minutes. He hadn’t promised ‘not weird’ though.

Kim ruthlessly reminded herself that it could be worse; she was only prepping the party, not hosting it. She wouldn’t have to talk to people or be charming. She could sit quietly. Watch people.

Humans. And Mecha. And humans with mecha. 

Gah.

When the tables and chairs were up, Kim stepped aside to watch Blur and Hound set up ice pillars. The ice was not how Kim had envisioned. Not walls, but cylinders. They were tall and thin and round and…not dripping. And had little fans next to them. Little fans with no power cords.

Kim didn’t ask. She headed back to her quarters to shower and get ready.

Arcee, in her single, combined root form, was apparently just standing in the middle of the infirmary. Kim hesitated a moment, then diverted to pause at the yellow line. “Hey,” she said. “How’s it going?”

Arcee turned her head, smiled after a moment—not, Kim thought, an expression of pleasure but a (possibly reluctant) message that the approaching human wasn’t interrupting something important. “It’s going as expected.” She shrugged. “I should mention, if you need help with the party, I can’t leave here. I’m on guard duty.”

Kim wondered how much she was allowed to know. “Guarding the new guys? They can’t get out of stasis by themselves.”

“Well. These three certainly can’t.” She tilted her chin at the big one—orange and yellow—and two small ones sharing an active pallet. “Flipsides,” she indicated another small one alone on a medical berth, “ _probably_ can’t. We aren’t taking any chances.”

“Filpsides?” Kim asked.

Arcee crouched down, delicate joints like knife-tips. “Her ID says she’s a fish hatchery. Damn. Newsroom editor? Continuing education teacher? Historian? It’s one word in Cybertronix. Anyway, her ID says she packages skills and information for…maximized convenience? Usefulness? I hate English. Anyway. Designated Sundoor: apparently positive reputation on Poiesis—that’s the colony in the aft end of nowhere she’s _apparently_ from—low rank in the Autobot army, at the moment being courted by Amplifier over there.” She jerked a ‘thumb’ toward the flame-colored one. “She hasn’t united with him yet, which suggests they aren’t in on it. I don’t think you could hide something like this from a carrier bond. But we don’t know anything for sure yet.”

Kim tried to digest that. “Don’t know _what_ yet?”

“It looks like her processor is…partitioned. Nearly twenty-five percent of her total memory is blocked off, and Optimus doesn’t think all of the memory that _is_ accessible is genuine. She’s a Flipsides. A Decepticon sleeper spy. Huh. _That_ it can translate? Anyway, the others look clean. But we have to make sure.”

Kim leaned up, trying to get a better look at the prone form on the berth. “So, when Optimus was vetting—?”

“He knew what to look for. And the Matrix—it causes some spark trauma, locking away memories and changing a processor like that. Well. So does war. But it doesn’t look the same, particularly if you are looking through the Wisdom of Primus.” Arcee did not sound at all sympathetic.

Hm. “Why is the Flipsides a ‘she’?”

“Are you kidding? She’s bright pink!”

“Oh.” Kim would have said ‘razzberry’ rather than ‘pink.’ But, Okay: on this part of Earth, pink things were girls… “What are we going to do with her?”

Arcee scowled. “It’s not up to me. And it may be complicated, because that carrier and his symbionts aren’t going to take it well if we summarily execute the mechin they’ve been courting.”

“Huh.” Kim said. She took a couple of steps back and looked up at the platform. “So…that’s a Decepticon.” She had only seen video.

Arcee inclined her head. “Well…yes and no. Her personality right now is a scout for our side. It’s complicated.”

Kim should probably say something. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. “We have a prisoner. Do we—? We _don’t_ have other prisoners. Decepticons don’t surrender.”

“Well,” Arcee shrugged. “We don’t have any other prisoners on Earth. And not too many off Earth since Shockwave attacked the orbital.”

“Um…what?”

“Surrender is the same as defection to him. He took out the engines. It got caught in a moon’s gravity and crashed. Twenty thousand prisoners. And the crew, which was about fifty.”

“Shit….”

Arcee looked down at the smaller raspberry figure on the bed. “It’s a an utterly slagged thing to do. I can’t imagine what it takes to voluntarily let yourself be suspended like that. It does happen though.” Her vocalizer reset. “I couldn’t do it.”

“A sleeper agent who doesn’t even know,” Kim said.

Arcee nodded. “It will be tragic for her friends.” She sighed. “Can you imagine finding out Jazz or Bee was never a real person, just a shell. Even thinking about it makes me fish hatchery….”

Kim took half a step back before stopping herself. “But. You’ve all been checked out.”

A tight laugh. “Blurr is agitating to have us all checked again. But the Matrix is here. You can’t fool that. If any of us was that fucked up….”

Kim nodded slowly. She stepped back to lean against a table support. Her neck was getting a crick from staring up so long. “Good use of ‘fucked,’ by the way.”

“Thanks.”

“Should I feel sorry for her? Or afraid of her?”

“I honestly have no idea,” Arcee answered.

***

Kim showered and dressed, preoccupied with the unfamiliar wording Arcee had used. This spy… was probably more strange then Kim thought, really. It had sounded like it was in English. But that was just a bad translation, words that almost fit hooked to concepts with baggage Kim didn’t know about. What kind of job was like high school teacher and newsroom editor?

What kind of person became a sleeper spy? Not like a human who was pretending, but really forget who you were because part of your brain was turned off?

***

Mirage and Wheeljack had set up a camouflage field over the parking lot beside Building F. It turned out the camouflage fields went both ways; it looked transparent from underneath, but the umbrella seemed to be filtering out the Nevada heat and glare.

The five buffet tables (four for human food, one ten feet high for energon) were laid with rainbow picknick tablecloths. They’d probably been designed for Pride, but energon had streaks of color in it, so, yeah. The food was laid out and covered with a delicate…cheese cloth? Mosquito netting? The stacks of paper plates and cups had a tasteful ‘congratulations’ around the rim.

Kim was going to have to send that Lieutenant a thank you note. 

People were starting to arrive. Little clusters of uniformed personnel were wandering into the sun shade. Mearing rode in with Bumblebee. When she got out, Kim saw that it wasn’t one of her usual assistants with her, but a bald African American in late middle age. He ran affectionate fingers along Bee’s door-rim before stepping back so the mech could transform.

This would be the financial advisor, the husband. Kim was curious. After a moment, she conceded that she was curious enough to risk a conversation with Mearing and casually wandered over to them.

Bee texted her before she quite arrived: MY GREAT PLEASURE TO INTRODUCE GUILLERMO MEARING. Kim turned the phone around and smiled. “Your reputation preceded you,” she said.

Guillermo turned out to be nice: low key, cheerful, soft-spoke. Basically he was the opposite of Charlotte. Well, except for his casual fearlessness around the giant, heavily armed mecha.

Blurr and Arcee arrived together, bracketing the new guy, Brawn, between them. Brawn was short, but broad. His ‘face’ wasn’t adapted to Earth yet; his helm was thick and came down like a brow-ridge, and his intake was almost beak-like. He didn’t mingle with the humans but sort of hid behind the energon table, one of the seasoned bots always close by.

“Is he going to like this?” Kim asked Hound. “I mean, this has got to be weird.”

Hound shrugged. “We can’t leave him alone. Not yet. And not with the crew he came in with still in stasis.”

Kim looked up sharply. “I thought he was cleared?”

“He was. Doesn’t mean Ironhide will take chances with security. But don’t dwell on that. The party is lovely. Mirage did a nice job on the camouflage field. It has some nice patterns in the electromagnetic from this angle.”

Kim looked up. “It seems transparent to me.”

“What’s it like to you?”

“Just…not as bright under it. I can see through it. The one over the mesa, too. They don’t look like anything to me.”

“And yet, your species uses radio. Amazing.”

“Not bad for brains of goo,” Kim agreed.

Across the parking lot Bulkhead transformed around Miko, who came out cheering and riding on his shoulder. Ew. Was the kid brave? Or just an adrenalin junky? Kim turned back to hound. “Hey, is Raf coming? Or does he have to lay low because NEST disapproves?”

“He decided it would not be possible to get away from his parents for the earlier event. And it might be problematic to include him in the activity later. Inappropriate.”

Kim’s mouth opened—but this was not the place to discuss anything at all delicate. What could she ask? “Will Miko be going? To….later?” Maybe this wasn’t a thing children witnessed.

“No. Her presence would not be useful. And this event….” His helm turned toward where Optimus and Ratchet were talking to one of the Washington suits Kim usually avoided. “So much is riding in its success,” he whispered. “If we are to have a future. And if we can have that future _here_.”

Kim glanced at him sharply. “Oh. Should I have declined to attend?” she asked.

“You are the one who will explain us. You must attend. I hope…I hope it goes well.”

Kim leaned sideways to rest against his leg. She whished she could glyph without thinking hard and digging around in her phone. She wished she could modulate her field. The communications gulf between herself and every ‘Bot was so deep and so wide.

Blurr came zipping up. He had never been inside the DFAC. The only things he had ever seen humans eat was MREs and fast food. He had been scanning the food brought to the tables and he had _questions_.

When he started to wind down, Kim flipped the conversation on him and asked about the energon. The mech table held a refrigerator-sized transparent hopper that seemed to be full of glossy marbles. He talked about the raw materials film that covered the outside—iron and copper and titanium in a very thin carbon and polymer film.

“Do you eat them with utensils? And how do you chew them?”

Blur’s optics reset. Then he looked around franticly. Then he leaned down (not very far, he was only a little taller than humans) and opened his buccal organ. It didn’t open very wide, and it was hard to see. And—geez—it was complex in there! Ratchet had put up a basic diagram once, so Kim could make out the dental plates. And the energon valve. And a bunch of little—were those capillary intakes? And—no, wait, is that—

It moved, uncoiling slightly, and Kim gasped. It was a tiny tentacle. And there were more than one.

In his _mouth_.

 _It’s like a tongue, she thought frantically_. But it wasn’t. They weren’t.

Arcee’s blue aspect was suddenly positioned beside them. “Thanks, Blurr, but humans get creeped out by that.”

Blurr shut his terrifying maw. “But. It’s Kim. We are supposed to be honest with Kim.”

“You haven’t watched nearly enough of their horror movies.” She patted Kim’s shoulder. “You’re good. Nothing to see here.”

Of course, in her divided root form, Arcee had no feet and a single small eye. And no apparent ‘mouth’ at all. “It’s cool,” she said quickly. “It just…didn’t look like Ratchet’s diagram.”

“Sure, kiddo. Whatever you say.”

Kim was wondering if protesting would do any good or just make it worse, when a flash of color caught her eye. Springer was making his way—carefully—among the humans. Usually a pleasant green, he was now so sparkly he looked like he’d been dipped in glitter.

Springer walked with small, precise steps to the energon table. With a scoop, he filled a jumbo-sized crystal punch bowl with the little balls and carried it to Optimus, who took it carefully in one hand. All the mecha had turned to face them, and conversations were dying away.

“My friends,” Optimus began, looking down for a moment at the vessel cupped in his hand. “It falls to me to call us together and welcome our guests. We have gathered to celebrate an end to the extreme rationing protocol we have lived under for so very long. And faced with this momentous occasion… I find I am somewhat at a loss for words to describe what this means to us. Perhaps I do not need to. I see many faces here among our guests who have sat beside a mech comrade undergoing repair for a malfunction or minor injury that would have been easily repaired by internal systems or avoided completely if there had been adequate nourishment. Our partners have patrolled with us, surveyed with us, mined with us, and fought alongside us over this fuel that is, for us, life.”

He paused, glancing over the crowd. The humans and mecha were mingled together. A couple of the Autobots were in alt with humans actually sitting on them. “This evening is not only a celebration, but a communication of gratitude. Today we do not feel the pain of deprivation, and for that, we owe our partners our deepest thanks. It is a debt we will remember and honor.”

General Morshower headed the human line at the buffet tables. He was pointedly cheerful and relaxed, talking loudly to the dining staff that was watching over the food. Lennox was working the ‘room,’ urging people over to eat, chatting with everyone on the edges.

Kim, nervous about everything, hung back. Parties with the NEST partners had such a bad reputation….

But. Plates were carried away heaping. People were talking and laughing rather than giving the food or the seating or each other irritated looks. The ‘Bots didn’t sit to eat, but clustered together in small groups, popping tiny spheres into their buccal organs with obvious relish. Kim wondered if they experienced anything like taste and its hard-wired loop to pleasure centers. Or did were they just feeling the relief of easing hunger? She would, she decided, ask Optimus later.

Eventually, Kim got a plate of food herself and took a seat with the bridge techs. And it was…nice. Most of Kim’s meals were rushed or alone. The DFAC could be friendly, but it was always very utilitarian. Frequently, if she ate with others, they were working. How many lunches had she spent with Fixit teaching her how to use math symbols?

Now, though, the Bridge techs were telling funny stories: The time the calculations were a bit off in a swamp and two hundred gallons of swamp water—complete with a snake and several fish—had flowed out onto the floor; the time Arcee had come in from the arctic and she was so cold she had iced up from the humidity in the air; the time Cliffjumper had come through backwards on a dare and the new guy on the Bridge had thought there had been a terrible accident and the transit had somehow inverted him.

The evening wasn’t too hot. The food was very good. Nobody complained that the menu was too eclectic or too fancy or too weird.

It was nice.

When the line at the buffet died away, Mirage stepped up as master of ceremonies. He orchestrated a quick collection of trash, a setting aside of tables, a shifting of chairs into rows curving around a low stage Jazz was setting up. There was open space behind the chairs, where the mecha were settling in (for the most part) alt.

Many of the humans didn’t take a seat on the chairs. Mearing and Guillermo were inside Bee, who had grown a moon roof they popped their heads out through. Ironhide was seated on the ground, Bobby and Carly each on a shoulder. Pierre and June clamored up on Ratchet’s hood. Wheeljack was hosting Miko on his roof while four nest guys were on Bulkhead’s.

“It’s going well, I think.” Optimus’s voice, just above her head.

Kim turned. “Don’t jinx it.”

“Don’t…what?” His optics shifted worriedly.

Kim had to think about that. “Don’t congratulate us before it’s over. Premature celebration. Oh, dear. The intentionality of the universe will see an opportunity to mock us with a disaster.”

“You are teasing me, I think. Intentionality in the overall course of events is a conceit of consciousness. Like the concept ‘fair.’”

“Except if it doesn’t finish well, I’ll feel stupid for relaxing now. So. I’ll keep worrying about the performance part.”

“Wise. The performers…all but Mirage are amateurs. It may yet be a disappointing evening. Shall we find a seat and end the suspense?”

When Mirage stepped out in front of the quieting crowd, Kim, Lennox, Maggie, and Fixit were all seated companionably on Optimus’ hood. They were at the very back of the audience, but the perch was very high, and the crowd was only a few hundred people.

The sun was low enough at this point that it was shining into the concealment field from the side, lighting the stage while most of the audience was in the shadow of Building F. Mirage had handled the layout. He was, Kim decided, genius. A breeze had come up, not enough to lift the dust, but enough to be pleasant. Maybe it wouldn’t matter if the performances weren’t good….

***

The performances were good.

Gonzales and Abramoff had been playing together for a while. They did “Take Me Home, Country Roads,” and if the singing was nothing special, the guitar work underneath it was warm and fluid. Kim found herself smiling at the human hominess of it.

Three big guys squeezed tight around a single microphone singing about how their daddy didn’t need to know that they were going downtown to check out Revolutionary War agitators would have been just funny—if they weren’t also amazingly good. Kim, only peripherally familiar with the source material, could only wonder if the harmonies were as good in the original. 

There was wild applause and honking when they were done. Kim was basking in relief when Peshlakai came up, set a stool in the middle of the stage, and—not karaoke, but with an actual guitar played by Gonzales, sang Weird Al’s “I’m So Handy,” as a power ballad. Half-way through the song, Fixit, on Kim’s right, began emitting a soft, purring _thrumm_. A protoform sound? Or was he humming along?

He’d been busy and not very forthcoming since his procedure. And there were a bunch of applications and data and experience to integrate. Was he enjoying the change? Or was it just exhausting? As badly as she wanted to know, she didn’t feel she had the right to push. 

The soft t _hrumm_ seemed happy, though.

Peshlakai joined hands with Gonzales and took deep, laughing bows to the applause that followed her song. Fixit yelled “Encore, Maestro!”

Kim grinned.

Mirage came forward as Peshlakai stepped down. He was carrying a sheet of steel. Nearly his own height, it was narrower a the top than at the bottom. He bowed when he reached the ‘stage’ and said, “I greet you with good evening.” A smile--almost natural-looking, had he altered his face plating?—and a wave. “I find we share a concept appropriate to the moment: ‘those are hard acts to follow.’”

This was greeted with laughter and whistles and a few shouts of encouragement. Mirage tilted his head charmingly. “I think our position is made even more precarious, because while those performances were elevated with cleverness and whimsy, we offer only earnestness. I can only hope you are a generous audience.”

Laughter, again. Kim relaxed a little. Whatever was coming, the humans would be tolerant, surely. Surely?

“When I first arrived on Earth, Jazz kindly shared with me his favorite human songs. There were seven hundred and forty-three in the collection, and I found many of them quickly became favorites of mine also. One in particular stood out. An ‘old’ song, in human terms,” he made an amused face here, “although recently it has seen something of a renaissance. The attention is manifestly well deserved; it is a truly remarkable work of art. Even before the metaphors were explained, my spark trembled at the eloquence of the lyrics.” He nodded, and Jazz and Bumblebee came up and took positions; Jazz beside Mirage, Bee behind both of them. “It is an honor to attempt this masterwork. I fear our performance will not do justice to the composition—with events as they have been, we have not had as much opportunity to practice as I would have liked,” a little rueful laughter from the crowd at the understatement, “Our choir and equipment are limited. I may be unable to grasp the full cultural nuance. I can only ask, comrades, that will forgive our myriad shortcomings.”

The audience was absolutely silent now. The ‘Bots looked smug; Kim thought they might know what was coming. Kim didn’t. _Oh, god, what song_? Should she be grateful it wasn’t opera?

The humans were leaning forward, almost vibrating with curiosity.

With a flourish, Jazz produced a coil of fine, steel cable from his subspace. In a single moment he divided the coil into four strands and shook them out. The lowering sun flashed off the cables as though they were made of sequins. He planted his right ped on one end and gripped the other end between the fingers of his left servo. He _twisted_ and _leaned_ in a way no human body could have, and he suddenly was wrapped in a harp. Kim blinked rapidly, trying to see how the bright strands twined around his body.

Mirage turned to face Jazz, bending his steel sheet into a double curve. Holding it in one servo, he ran the fingers of the other over the metal, bending and releasing to form a recognizably Earthy octave scale—in the unearthly tones of a very deep, impossibly resonant, singing saw. Kim gasped, nearly laughed, transfixed by surprise.

They had musical instruments. She had had no idea. She had never even though to ask. They could mimic any sound with their vocalizers and speakers. She had assumed mech music would all be synthesized. _I’m so stupid--_

Jazz said something in Cybertronix that was half politeness and humility markers. Mirage’s answer was a compliance, also overloaded with politeness and gratitude markers.

Silence for a moment and then—

Jazz played a cheery seven note riff on his harp that was so familiar Kim’s mouth dropped open. He played it again, and this time Mirage came in, tapping the steel instrument high up on the narrow end.

And then Bumblebee sang—on key where the vocables ought to be. Cybertronix words, but they sounded right, the right length, the right tone. Kim scrambled desperately—did she recognize _any_ of the words? What was he saying?

The song was already more complex. How was Mirage playing a guitar part on a bent sheet of metal? The same bent sheet of metal he was also playing a keys part on—

And then Mirage and Jazz turned their faces to each other, tipped up their helms, and began to sing tight harmony in English:

_Pressure. Pushing down on you, pushing down on me  
No man asked for._

There was not a single part of it that sounded like the original. No part of it sounded like any human performance, of anything, ever. But it was perfect. Jazz and Mirage leaned and twisted slightly as they played their instruments, the shape of themselves sang out in the shape of the instruments and then the sounds.

Astonished and delighted, Kim clung to each note. The song rolled on, perfect, brilliant, warm. Up and down. Kim had not thought how technical difficult this song must be until aliens played it perfectly. Jazz was bouncing sounds off the metal army buildings, sending out a reverb that seemed to come back in harmony.

And then it was over.

The desert was still, except for the slight breeze.

Kim shut her mouth—and found her tongue dry and her hands nearly shaking.

The applause burst out in a single wave, as though cued. Those seated in the chairs at the front were jumping up and down.

As the clapping died away, Optimus shifted on his tires. “I’m afraid I’m next, Kim. I must evict you.”

Fixit hopped down first, reaching up to catch each of the humans as they disembarked. As far as Kim could tell, his actuators were completely calibrated now. He caught Lennox and Maggie very gently. Awkwardly, Kim slid toward the waiting servos, steadied herself with a hand against Optimus’ warm chassis, stepped away with Fixit so the big rig could transform.

Optimus leaned down at her shoulder, whispered, “I will endeavor not to disgrace your excellent party planning with a poor performance,” and reset his left optical array in a sly wink.

Calm, dignified, he walked around the gathered humans to the stage area. He nodded to Jazz, passed through Bumblebee’s field as they crossed paths, bowed slightly to Mirage. Bowing wasn’t really a thing ‘Bots normally did.

Kim glanced around. She was standing with the bots at the back, but alone. And that wasn’t right, not at the party where NEST was celebrating all together. She bit her lip. Hound didn’t have a human on him.

As she neared him, he transformed into root, knees and hands flat on the desert. He swayed towards her, whispered in her ear, “Stay standing, Kim. This should be…something. Feet against the ground.”

She nodded to show she would comply and got out her phone in case there was any glyph subtext. 

Optimus knelt facing the audience, knees wider apart than peds, hips upright, shoulders at rest and slightly less pointy than usual. It was not a position Kim had seen mecha take before. Bee sat in the front row of the audience, at the edge of the center aisle. Between them, on either side, Jazz and Mirage stood facing one another.

The sound, low and sold, seemed to come from everywhere. It came up through her feet and settled in her belly. Her breathing hitched. This was protoform sound.

Even as she identified it, the deep harmonic faded, rolling back like a wave on the beach.

They sky was going red and purple in sunset. Distantly, Kim appreciated their mastery of timing. The slanted light was making their armor gleam. And then Jazz dropped his head back and sang. Words? Yes, but slower than conversation; melodic, measured. His voice rang out across the desert, echoed off a metal building across the road.

Jazz sang. And then Mirage answered, almost the same but higher, lighter. Under it, the deep harmony rose and fell like the tide coming in and going out.

This was not like the recordings Jazz played in the language lessons.

Kim’s hand lifted, brushed against Hound beside her. The song thrummed gently in his plating.

In the ground, in the air, in her bones….

Bee was trilling softly, a melody swirling through the lyrics. What did they say? Was the song sad? Seeking? Hoping? It felt restless, _needing_ , whatever else it might mean.

Bee and Jazz and Mirage were all singing now, different lyrics and melody, weaving in and out, over one another.

And then Optimus answered. Perfect resonant tones filled in under and over the others. Where the song had been restless and almost urgent it suddenly became settled and heartening. Whatever the question had been, this was the answer. Kim sighed and felt the _hum_ of protoform song pass through her breath. It was—

The melody floated around her, flooding out even Kim’s curiosity about the message. It was so beautiful.

It completed. And ended. And was over. It left the dessert in silence—an almost painful emptiness--

The silence filled slowly, timidly, with applause. The human sound was jarring, strange. Kim breathed shakily.

And then the sound of feet as the humans in chairs toward the front stood up.

General Morshower was making his way down the aisle. He offered his hand to Bee, inclined his head to Jazz. He took the microphone from the karaoke set and thumbed it on, but—smiling-- waited until the applause faded on its own. It took a long time.

At last he said, “Well. I had prepared to make gracious comments about ‘blowing off steam,’ and ‘having fun,’ and the ‘generosity of our hosts.’ I was—heh—completely unprepared for anybody to actually be good. All the performers tonight were very generous with their talents, and also their courage. I know it is difficult, standing up in front of friends and respected colleagues and doing something out of the ordinary.” He cleared his throat. “Extraordinary. I know I speak on behalf everyone when I say, thank you.”

There were more words: formal, pleasant. Kim couldn’t focus on them. Her hand had cramped around her phone and her eyes felt gritty.

All at once, the humans in the chairs stood up and started folding up their seats and carrying them over to a cart. There was no particular hurry, and people were talking again. Kim sighed.

Hound brushed close against her shoulder. “Did you like it?”

“Oh, yes. It was very beautiful.”

“I’m glad. There was much discussion. As you can imagine.”

Kim turned to face him. “What was the song about?”

“Hmm. You would say ‘brotherhood,’ I suppose. That all are connected, no matter how they arise, to the soul of Primus. We are all one….family.”

“That’s lovely,” Kim said. She would have to get the text….

Hound shrugged. “It is an earnest sentiment. It is also a lie.”

Kim’s head snapped up. “What?”

“Kim. Clearly, we are unworthy. And Primus has abandoned us. There is no greater meaning to our existence than what we experience.”

Kim tried to turn that over in light of what she knew of Autobot theology. They didn’t doubt Primus—he wasn’t ‘god’ to them. He just _was_. “H—Hound? Are you all right?”

He paused, tilting his head slightly to scan her. “Yes?” he said.

“But you’re not—you’re not at a loss for meaning, are you? You’re not assuming there is no point?”

“I’m not sure what you are asking. Why are you afraid?” He paused. “I don’t understand.”

She stepped closer, reached up with the hand that wasn’t still holding her phone to catch the side of his helm. She managed to speak gently: “Hound. Are you despairing?”

“What an—Kim, your file identifies you as ‘Protestant.’ Your religious framework does not consider despair a ‘sin.’”

Helplessly, she shook her head. “Hound, are you depressed?”

His optics reset. Since they were only about two feet away, she could hear the tiny chorus of _click_. “I have no brain chemistry!” he said. “Oh. I am not confessing hopelessness. I am identifying myself as an…yes, Existentialist. That term is acceptable.”

He brought his arms behind her, one below her seat and the other high on her back, and gently lifted her up. “Giving up my ‘religion’ was painful. But the meaning of my life does not depend on faith in the benevolence or wisdom of Primus.” He settled her in the curve of his arm, so she was looking up at his face. “I have my partner, whom I love and who loves me beyond all describing. I have this ecosystem, Earth and its life. It does not matter why it originated or to what purpose. Prime was right to ally himself with your people and to commit us to protecting this world. I have many friends. I have interesting puzzles. It is meaning enough.”

Kim sagged against him. Her feet were off the ground, but she was quite comfortable. Perhaps this was how hugging mecha worked—not with grabbing or holding, but merely settling securely and resting against. “I’m sorry. I—”

“You did not rise from Primus, not through Vector Sigma or the Allspark or the Blessed Matrix. But—can you understand? I would name you and Carly and Bobby as my brother as quickly as I would name any mech. You saved me, a stranger, an alien. I was certain my energon would drain out into the soil of a strange world and my spark would sizzle away into chaos—And then there were three humans, so brave, so kind, so clever.”

Kim sighed. “That was Carly and Bobby. I didn’t do anything.”

“You did not leave me in my fear.” He made the soft thrum that Bee made for Mearing and Raf. “You are my brother.”

“I love you too, Hound,” she said.

“Now, look,” he murmured, turning so she could see over the slowly dispersing crowd. It was nice. Nobody was rushing away, just wandering back toward the barracks or the parking lot or the mesa. “Ironhide is headed over. He wants to make sure your distress is not serious.”

Kim winced. Ironhide didn’t have much in the way of optical sensors in alt, but his electromagnetics were excellent, and he kept them focused on humans. His progress was slow and apparently casual, but Hound was right; he was headed here. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for there to be a fuss.”

Hound shifted Kim in his arms so that she was facing sideways and slightly higher, so she wouldn’t have to crane to look up. The glyph app flashed a _generalized query_ from Ironhide.

She sent back a _situation acceptable,_ a mech equivalent of _I’m fine_.

As usual, Ironhide was not put off. He approached to within overlapping distance of Kim, but perhaps not quite close enough to overlap fully with Hound. “Something frightened her,” he said darkly.

“It was a cultural misunderstanding. She interpreted something I said as an indication of a dangerous cognitive glitch.”

Ironhide clicked in amusement. “Aw. Well. If that’s all. You must be used to it, Hound.” Kim’s phone came alive with irony and amusement and insincere apology glyphs.

Hound clicked back at him. “Maybe I’ll get my processor checked later.”

“Heh. I’m sure you will. You and half this base. But let’s not pretend it’s medical. Fish hatchery—”

He broke off abruptly. There was a long, awkward silence.

“Complicated concept?” Kim asked.

They looked unhappily at each other. “One it would be inappropriate to elaborate on just now, Ironhide said, clicking softly.

“Either of us could explain it to you later,” Hound added. “Separately.”

“Anyhow,” Ironhide said, gesturing to a group of humans making their way across the emptying ground, “Kim is about to be busy.”

Kim counted as Hound set her down. Director Mearing and Guillermo, Captain Lennox, General Morshower, Bill Fowler, Carly, Maggie, and Pierre.

“Yo,” Maggie said as they approached. “What is this other event we’re supposed to be at in half an hour, and why are you supposed to explain it?”

Kim glanced at Ironhide and Hound. They were retreating. She sighed. She checked her watch. They had about twenty-five minutes to get to the assembly area in ‘Bot country. And she was supposed to explain. She sighed again, and then said loudly (Mech had amazing hearing) “Some warning would have been nice. Thanks, guys.”

“Dr. Montgomery,” General Morshower said, “ _can_ you explain? This is a little irregular.”

“Maybe. Probably. Can I see the message?”

Maggie held out her phone. It showed a calendar change, but where the name of the event would be it just said, “Kim will explain.”

 _Explaining things is my job_. And then, _My boss is such an asshole._ “Okay. Sure. But let’s get started. It’ll take that long to get there.” 

“As you were saying?” the general prompted.

Kim wished she could say everything simultaneously. If she said the wrong thing first, they might freak out. “Well. Until tonight they’ve been on extreme energon rationing.”

“That is why we had the party,” Mearing said. She sounded excessively patient, and Kim winced.

“Being off rationing means there are things they can do…that they couldn’t before.” She kept walking firmly forward, not looking around. “Tonight, they’re going to kindle two sparklings. Just two. There are going to be children. In a few weeks.”

As Kim was congratulating herself on making it clear that there would _not_ be hoards of new mecha and not implying any kind of licentious activity, the general stumbled to a halt muttering “God help us.”

“No,” Lennox said. “They wouldn’t. Not—Not _here_.”

“You have to have misunderstood,” Carly said. “It takes a huge infrastructure to nurture sparklings and get them into frames.”

Fowler said, “But how? They don’t have the Allspark.”

The general closed on Kim. “What kind of containment protocols do they have in place? Is there any way you could get them to wait a few days so we can—” He looked at Lennox. “What can we do? Some kind of fortification?”

“They don’t have an Allspark,” Fowler repeated stubbornly.

“Maybe they would do it…somewhere else?” Lennox said weakly.

“What are you freaking out about?” Kim was sweating now. This was so much worse than she’d expected.

“You’ve seen video,” Lennox said. “You know how destructive they are when they first come alive!”

“Oh. No. No, it’s not going to be like that. Geez, they aren’t just going to dump a soul into some Earth equipment and turn it loose!”

Everyone was looking at her, but at least now they only looked worried but hopeful rather than completely horrified.

Kim started walking again. Everyone else was gone now. The sun was down, and the flood lights were on. “They are going to put proper processers and data and some protomatter and…stuff into a container and kindle the soul and let it…develop.”

“Where are they going to get the soul?” Fowler asked.

Before Kim could frame her answer, Lennox said, “It’s that Matrix they’re so cagey about. Isn’t it?”

Kim sagged. “Yes.”

Guillermo Mearing spoke for the first time. “But why are _we_ going?”

“Because they’re happy and they want to share it with us.” Kim turned around, kept walking backwards. “There’s going to be kids. General, in a few weeks they’ll be…decanted, and there will be kids on your base. Prime reassigned some of the humans—as many as he could, I think—so they could live in the Cold War hallway with me. So that the baby mecha would grow up with a human community. We’re socializing them.”

“Holy shit,” Fowler whispered. “That bastard really does think we’re going to win this war. I thought he was blowing smoke.”

Kim’s foot caught on a rock. She stumbled, righted, and turned around to walk forward.

Of course, generals and suits didn’t powerwalk all over the base. They commandeered golf carts. Kim felt a stab of envy as they tooled smoothly past the bridge alcove. It took so long to get anywhere, walking. But Kim’s job wasn’t to get places fast, but to consciously be all the places she was—which included not zipping past (for example) the Bridge, but moseying through them with time to stop and say hi.

They arrived at the assembly area with nine minutes to spare. A huge table had been set up in the middle, and Ratchet and Wheeljack were minutely inspecting two of the womb-sacks laid out on it. The minicons were waiting on the balcony. Slipstream had Max on a leash. She was splayed on his right shoulder, which looked…slightly flatter than it had before.

Fixit reached out to Maggie. He put an arm around her shoulder and hugged her. Humans do touching. Kim blinked and looked in another direction.

“It’s so cool, mate,” Maggie said. “I never thought I’d see a sparkling. I’m so happy for you all.”

Fixit sighed. “Thank you. Success is not likely, but I persist in hoping.” 

Maggie frowned. “What’s wrong? Is it…likely to fail?”

He shrugged stiffly. “The cooperation of the Matrix is not assured. It may consider Earth unsuitable.”

“Why would Earth be unsuitable?” Lennox asked.

Slipstream made an impatient noise. “Do not listen to him. He has been ‘researching.’ Earth isn’t really the Warren of Chaos. That’s just a metaphor.”

“θ ๆ!” Jetstorm interjected. Kim had heard it before, although she didn’t have a translation. It usually seemed a response to something rude or indiscrete.

“Warren of Chaos?” Mr. Mearing asked.

Lennox said, “Seriously?”

“Earth has a sketchy reputation,” Kim clarified. “They hid the Allspark here because it’s the place nobody would want to go.”

“Nobody ever mentioned that,” Captain Lennox was not letting this go.

Kim shrugged. “Well, it’s pretty rude: ‘Hi, by the way, your plant’s shit hole we normally wouldn’t be caught dead on. No offence.’”

Fowler laughed. “I totally get it: the mud, the dust, the sand, the salt, the weather.” He shivered sympathetically. “If I were a machine, this is the last place I’d plan a vacation.”

“But _if_ the Matrix goes along with it…” General Morshower said, “What exactly is going to happen?”

The humans sobered, remembering the serious—and mysterious—business they’d come for. They looked uneasily at the bots. After a moment it was Jetstorm who answered. “We don’t have a dedicated facility. Ratchet will set the spark chambers in plastic brackets. Prime will invoke the matrix. He will entreat it to grant life. If it does, Ratchet will place the spark chambers into the eggshells, and the sparklings will develop.”

Morshower and Lennox looked at one another. Lennox asked heavily, “When do they come out shooting tiny bullets? I assume you have a way to contain them?”

The three minicons twitched backwards. Kim buried her face in her hands. “They think it’s going to be the Pruess Lake bait shop all over again.”

“No,” Fixit said softly. “That is not how it normally is. As I understand it,” he glanced down at the assembly floor, where the other ‘Bots were starting to gather in clumps, “the Allspark was under fire. And it was always…touchy to begin with. And Sentinel Prime was too badly damaged to control it. And human technology—no real processor, no real memory, certainly no firmware and language packets. Those sparklings….”

“It was disaster,” Jetstorm said flatly. “A slaughter of innocents. They weren’t enemies. They were only suffering and desperate. But you do not need to be afraid of these sparklings. They will not lash out.”

“I’m sorry,” Lennox said. “I never asked. I…should have.”

“Um,” Guillermo Mearing cut in, “Are we allowed to be talking about this? The new guy is glaring at us.” He cocked his head.

Everyone turned to look. Brawn was standing by the entrance to the ‘Bot commissary, and— _was_ he ‘glaring’? Staring, certainly. Kim considered for a moment, and then waved.

He came over. He was shorter than Bee; the top of his helm didn’t quite reach the balcony. He stopped a few yards back so he could look up at the humans. “Ahoy,” he said.

“No, no,” Slipstream said. “Talk Like A Pirate Day is next month. And in any case, that was only an example. Try again.”

“H’yup.” This was a gravelly southern accent. Carly giggled.

Kim stepped on Carly’s foot discretely, using the movement to step forward. “Good evening, Brawn.”

He popped out an antenna. Kim waited while she was scanned.

“No, seriously,” Brawn said. “Where’s the real dominant species on this planet?”

Slipstream and Fixit scolded him in Cybertronx. Brawn’s reply used every dirty name Kim knew, several words Kim didn’t, and ‘mo-ped’ in English. The other humans were looking to Brawn and back to the minicons in dismay. It was clear they hadn’t heard long passages in Cybertronix before.

Then Jetstorm popped out a shoulder cannon, and all the humans stepped back. Lennox pushed Carly and Pierre behind him, and the general stepped over in front of Kim. Below, Jazz was already closing fast. He didn’t bother sprouting weapons or giving commands aloud, he just planted himself beside Brawn and nodded genially to the minicons and humans. “Director Mearing, General. It’s so good to see everyone here. We’ll be getting started in a few minutes.”

Mearing seized on the opening and began praising Jazz’s performance at the picnic. Ignored, Brawn stood still with his optics fixed on the balcony stairs.

Lennox eased back and hissed in Kim’s ear, “What’s with the new guy?”

“I dunno,” she whispered back. “It’s too early to tell. It takes a while to interpret the data dump on humans.”

“Seriously. These sparklings?”

And Kim understood, in retrospect. She had seen video from the fight over the Allspark. There hadn’t been much left of the bait shop even before Sentinel Prime had fallen on it and the propane tank caught fire. 

“I don’t know what to say, Will.” Kim pointed down at the assembly area, which was filling up with mecha “ _They_ all had to be born. Sparked. There has to be a way to do it.”

The milling bots stilled, and the sudden silence made the humans turn around and abandon their conversations. Optimus was standing in the entrance to the ‘Bot commissary. He wasn’t putting on a show for humans, now. He had dropped the body language and facial expressions; the change was small, but profound. This moment was not about humans.

Kim looked over the cavernous room, counting. Ironhide stood at the turn toward the infirmary, shoulder leaning against the stone wall, arms folded, standing guard. Ratchet was at the table, several extra antennae showing in his excitement. Bulkhead stood just behind Optimus, shifting uneasily, visibly catching himself from sprouting a small targeting array.

Where was Chromia? Where was Windblade?

Slipstream was closest. Kim leaned to the side and whispered her question.

“Guarding the infirmary. They might as well; it would be inappropriate for them to be here.” His tone said this answer should have been obvious. Before Kim could ask more about it, Optimus stepped forward, and Slipstream motioned her to hush.

Ratchet stepped back.

Optimus looked down at the equipment spread across the table, tilted his head fractionally for an electromagnetic scan, and glanced up at the gathered Autobots. He asked Ratchet a question Kim couldn’t make out. Ratchet answered in brief Cybertronix.

Movements precise and graceful—visibly alien—Optimus took a step back. His torso opened.

Kim’s breath caught, profoundly, startlingly aware that she liked her friends to keep their armor closed, keep their internals safely wrapped in metal panels and behind force field generators, not out in the Earth air, exposed and fragile.

From the balcony, she didn’t see any movement inside him, but suddenly a tiny ball of _something_ was sliding free and hovering in the air in front of Optimus. It was dark and reflective, a solid, shiny ball—

Or, no. It was a lattice cage, horns extending outwards, silver and glinting—

How was it flying? It was hovering over Optimus’ hands. How was it flying?

And why had she thought it was dark? It was a brilliant, shimmering blue, nearly too bright to look at, still small, it would fit in his hand if he closed his fist. She could see that it was small.

Except it wasn’t small. And it was looking at her.

Every hair on Kim’s body felt like it was standing straight up. The air seemed so tight and hard she could barely breath. It was looking. It could see her.

It was huge. It was huge and bright, and it was looking at her.

They were looking at her. Not it. Not one. Many. A crowd looking at Kim, at Kim’s people, at Kim’s planet.

And then the enormous attention was gone, and Kim was just standing on the balcony at home. There was no crowd of alien presence, just her friends and coworkers and informants.

Below, the Matrix—a point of light in a web of silver—lightly danced between Optimus’ servos. He nudged it forward and the light blinked: once, twice.

And then Optimus was stepping back and Ratchet was reverently lifting the spark chambers from the brackets and tucking each into a mesh eggshell.

Kim took a couple of deep breaths.

Below, the ‘Bots were chattering in Cybertronix and Ratchet was clearing away his tools. “What happens next?” Mearing asked, eyeing the metal sacks that bulged so suggestively.

Jetstorm looked slightly unhappy. “The original plan had been to hang them in the infirmary where Ratchet could keep an eye on them. At the moment, though, the infirmary is occupied and so perhaps they are …best elsewhere.” 

Mearing was leaning over the rail. “I mean….how?”

Kim thought she knew what she was asking. “The sparks will consume the energon and build bodies. When they use up the raw materials inside the sack, they’ll integrate the sack and drop out.”

Mearing glanced up. “Drop? Like fall? From how high?”

Fixit looked at her pityingly and patted her shoulder. “Not very far. A dozen meters or so. Earth’s gravity is mild. And someone will catch them.”

The first bag was already rising on a cable. _You hang them up and wait_ , Kim thought dizzily.

Two embryos, a couple of yards apart, were situated at a height slightly above Optimus’ head. They weren’t noticeable if you weren’t looking for them. But once word got out, every human on the base would be looking for excuses to stop by and look at them. Maybe that was the point, in a way. Get the locals used to the idea.

Fixit excused himself to go work the bridge; several mecha were leaving directly for patrol. Optimus came over to the balcony and collected the human guests, cordially apologizing for keeping them so late, offering to walk them out to answer any questions.

Kim stayed where she was, leaning against the railing, looking up, wondering what would come out. _Who_ would come out. She supposed it would be okay to ask questions about sparklings now. The topic couldn’t be off-limits when they were about to have some. Could it? Maybe she could even ask to see baby pictures….

She was still looking when Optimus came back. He moved to the side of the balcony and turned so he could see the incubators, too.

“Can you tell how they’re doing?” Kim asked.

A chuckle. “We have them on telemetry. Everyone is watching. For the first few weeks they will be building protomatter without specialization.”

“When will they get names?” She scooted sideways toward the corner so they would not be so far apart.

“They are currently designated One-A and One-B.”

“Oh. The first generation on Earth. Very sentimental.” She dug out her pad of paper and drew the characters for basic numeral one and the first and second sound characters. “This?” She suspected not. “Or one of the fancy number systems?”

He glanced at the pad. “You misunderstand. I was not translating their names. They were born on Earth, in a territory that most commonly uses English. They are named in your language: Won Ay and Won Bee.”

“Is everybody okay with this? I mean, alien names….” Maybe that was what Brawn had been so grumpy about, before.

“They will likely choose their own names soon after hatching.” He broke off. “No. I do not like that translation. It is technically correct but…revolting. _Emerging_ is vague, but acceptable. They will choose their own names some time after emerging.”

“Who will catch them? When they emerge?” Hatch.

“Whoever is near.” He sighed. “It has been so very long.”

Kim was up against the railing on her right. She leaned out slightly. Optimus shifted fractionally toward her, so that her shoulder was against her arm. Above in the dim space of the silo, two pear-shaped sacks glinted dully.

~the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a six. I have to work out what is going to happen with Flipsides. And the babies (well, okay, that part is mostly sorted). And it seems I'm going to have to find a linguist.

**Author's Note:**

> So the Bumblebee movie was noticeably for kids (and it suffered some from over-expositioning), but it was *better*. So much better. It turns out you can tell a pretty good giant alien war robot story if you leave out illogic, unnecessary explosions, and spiteful misogyny. Woohoo.  
> *  
> I'm back. It's a long one. Poor Martha has been getting bits out of order. And some of it written on Google docs, which I'm not as good with. She's been a great sport about it. My thanks.  
> *  
> About Mearing: Yes. It took me a couple of days to realize it, but once I'd seen it, I couldn't let it go. It made so much sense: what do you do when you know Decepticons exist? What would you do with *your* life, if you knew that evil, giant, alien war machines had a ray that made humans go splat?


End file.
